


For Your Eyes Only

by starvingsnout



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Mentions of Racism, Oral Sex, Setting: Leeds, past social ostracism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-26 22:17:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starvingsnout/pseuds/starvingsnout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Zayn is an English teacher who meets up with old school mates and ends up doing much more than that with one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Zayn, my dear lad! Here at last! Almost started to think you weren’t coming, mate.”

“Hi, Louis. Had to see what these famed ‘orgies’ of yours are like, I guess.”

“Don’t you go air-quoting this party, my friend, no room for skeptics or wet blankets here. You’re going to enjoy yourself, you’ll see. Get in, mingle, soak up the atmosphere and loosen your muscles! Our revels master has all sorts of wicked things planned for tonight.” 

Zayn gave his friend - acquaintance, really - a humouring smile and ventured dutifully further inside the lofty industrial hall that housed the wildest, craziest parties in all of Yorkshire, allegedly. There were people everywhere you looked in various states of drunkenness, and the near-darkness made the atmosphere claustrophobic. Zayn could see absolutely no one he could have claimed to have ever seen in his life, but that was no wonder. This wasn’t exactly his scene. The only reason he was here was because of his connection to Louis, whom he knew back from school. They’d been sort of close then, sat together in classes and such, and when they’d bumped into each other a few days ago, all the flooding nostalgia had made Zayn agree to come and see what Louis’s current livelihood was all about. Of course he’d heard about the Office before, but realizing that someone he actually knew ran the place was something of a shock. Sure, Louis had been a tad wild back in their school days, but Zayn had always assumed he’d rather pursue a career in films or theatre; the boy had spent far more time cracking jokes and coming up with clever little sketches for the school drama club than he had paying attention in Economics.

It occurred to Zayn now, as he aimlessly waded his way through the shadowy sea of people, that perhaps Louis had expected him to have turned out rather different, as well. Back in school Zayn’d been part of a notorious (or revered, depending on who you asked) gang of pranksters and the singer in an emo band whose members wore eye-liner, bracelets and studded belts with their uniform trousers. And since Louis and him had never really hung out after school, the lad had never seen the utterly normal and boring and _different_ Zayn that he turned into at home. The Zayn who liked Boyz II Men instead of Bullet for My Valentine and spent his weekends reading actual novels instead of just comic books; the Zayn learned to read the Qur’an and loved helping his grandma,  _daadi_ , fill samosas with coconut, banana and cardamom. He wondered if he should feel guilty about having kept such big parts of his life to himself. 

No matter. He’d come here out of curiosity and for a slight change in routine; it was unlikely he would continue to keep in touch with Louis afterwards. Perhaps he ought to have brought along a friend, though; he was starting to feel rather awkward walking around on his own like this, especially when he stuck out somewhat. His was probably the only non-dyed hair in the entire building and, unlike most of the other people present, he could have worn his current outfit to a public park and not get stared at. It didn’t bother him greatly, though, getting looks now: he hadn’t suffered from low self-esteem since his teens and was (humbly) aware of the fact that most people nowadays staring his way did it because they liked what they saw. He did mind not being able to locate wherever drinks were being sold, though. While he didn’t really have a stomach for alcohol, he would have liked a small dose of something relaxing to ease him into the atmosphere.

Just as Zayn was starting to weigh up his fellow party-goers for someone coherent enough to point him in the right direction, a microphone screeched on and a booming male voice resounded from the speakers:

“It is now 11 pm and the doors are closed to any newcomers! All those hearing me now are of course free to leave any time you wish, darlings. And some of you will. But those who stay, hold on to your love handles and secure your flying goggles. Because this- is the OFFICE! And the first game of the night begins- NOW!”

The crowd cheered and wolf-whistled in drunken delight and there was an explosive noise. Suddenly Zayn found himself amidst a thick rain of streamers of some sort, and a hand landing on his shoulder made him jump.

“Well then, Zayn, how’re you doing so far?” It was Louis. “Uh, fine. But... what am I-“ “My apologies, Nialler seems to have forgotten to tell the rules. Mostly people have the games memorized already. You are participating, aren’t you?” 

Zayn looked around, realizing that people were tying the streamers they’d caught around their heads as blindfolds. The blaring techno had given way to a slower, r&b track (Usher, he noted distractedly), and any talking was done in low voices and hushed whispers. He knew what it looked like, but surely... 

“Tell me the rules first,” he said, reluctantly accepting the streamer Louis was handing his way.

“Right. Basically, you put that on and start moving about to the music until it stops. Then you just shimmy up to whoever is closest to you and... do whatever you feel like doing. When the music starts, you move on again.” 

Zayn stared at him in shock. “Oh my god, it really is an orgy.”

Louis rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Well, wouldn’t go that far. Most people settle for a round of frenching, copping a feel, that sort of thing. If you want to go further than that, you either take it somewhere else or exchange contact info.” He shrugged.

“What about the other games?” Zayn asked suspiciously, evading a small woman with neon-coloured braids who reached blindly for his bum as she danced past him.

Louis clicked his tongue. "Some are naughtier than others. Tonight is rather standard, a mixed batch of old favourites, really. Nothing that requires you to participate if you don't want to,” he added seeing Zayn’s face. “So, what say you? Let go for a night?”

Zayn bit his lip and eyed the crowd and fiddled with the streamer, but there was no escaping it. He was back in school, facing peer pressure from no other than Louis 'the Tommo' Tomlinson himself, and about to give in to it like he always had. Louis saw the answer in his face and motioned for him to turn around. Oh well, Zayn thought, as the streamer was tightened on his face, it wasn’t like he was attached or even interested in anyone particular at the moment. Maybe a harmless little snog session or two with some strangers in a club he wasn’t planning on visiting again wasn’t really such a big deal.

With a quick “good luck” and a gentle shove to his back, Louis sent Zayn into the mass of people, but he’d only managed a couple of steps before the music already paused. Unsure, he slowly felt his surroundings, and was met with a soft body that immediately shook in giggles. He drew his hands back, but the person followed and soon he could feel the soft contours of breasts push against his lower abdomen. He tried to say something, but a small hand with long nails slid confidently around his neck and tugged him down by the hair to meet sticky lips that parted to allow a slippery tongue rub playfully against Zayn's mouth. He responded instinctively, kissing her back and letting his hands wrap loosely around her firm waist. A slim thigh nudged against his hip, and her body felt smooth and supple all over. In other words, she seemed pretty much a knockout. 

And yet, he couldn’t say he felt too excited at all. Was he just too old and boring for this? As a teenager this would have been many fantasies come true times a dozen. Perhaps now that the pressures of puberty no longer urged for as many conquests as possible, he’d finally started appreciating the slow-burn satisfaction of gradual seduction without even really realizing it. This was pretty much the opposite of gradual.

His partner was making happy noises into his mouth and Zayn gave her bum a dutiful squeeze in response, jumping in surprise when she did the same to him. He couldn’t help but feel paranoid and a little helpless like this, feeling like someone was observing him without him knowing it. The feeling wasn’t exactly helping him relax into his partner’s touches and when the music commenced again, he extracted himself from the woman without much regret. Whatever enthusiasm he'd had coming here had more or less evaporated now that his curiosity had been sated and he'd realized how little this was affecting him. He was already considering taking off the streamer and dropping out of the game to find Louis when a new body made contact with him from behind and a low voice whispered in his ear. “Wanna dance?” 

A man. It was a man asking him for a dance and now subtly feeling up his abs with strong, blunt fingers. It had not occurred to Zayn that he might be accosted by a man. How typically short-sighted of him. “Um, I was actually just thinking of leaving.” He didn’t want to sound rude or homophobic, but he really wasn’t all that adventurous when it came to exploring his sexual orientation. Also, wasn’t it the rule that there was to be no touching until the music paused?

“Oh? Just a little twirl on the parquet, though?”

“I don’t think dancing is quite what this game is about,” Zayn protested weakly, already letting himself be pulled around and against his new partner, who appeared to be a good two inches taller than him. Zayn really wished he wasn’t so hopeless at saying no.

“No, I suppose not... I don’t come here often. And I don’t think you do either.” 

It rather sounded like a variation on the classic ‘Do you come here often?’ line, and Zayn wondered exasperatedly if this man was seriously going to try and chat him up. They couldn’t even see each other! Better swerve the conversation to safer lanes before he agreed to something he'd definitely regret. "I just stopped by to see what the buzz is all about. All my friends are talking 'bout this place."

His partner hummed thoughtfully. "Mm. It's become, like, really popular recently, ever since they came up with the 'games'. I mostly just come to talk to people. I've met people of all kinds here. Like the other day I talked to a woman who bred snakes for a living. She offered me one for a reduced price. I didn't take the offer in the end, though. I just feel that snakes are, like, kind of pointless as pets. They don't really care about you, and the only time you'd have contact with them is when you feed them. You give it a mouse and that's it. The only bonding time you've got." 

As the man talked, moving on from snakes to rabbits, he swayed slowly to and fro to the music, by extension making Zayn sway along as well. That combined with the low, near hypnotic timber of his voice was somehow making it hard for Zayn to interrupt him. _What are you doing, man? Snap out of it. You don't have to be polite to a strange man keeping you hostage with boring pet tales. Tell 'im you're not interested and get out of this place._

Unfortunately Zayn had never been the smoothest of talkers and couldn't actually come up with anything cool and standoffish enough. "What's with the poodle hair?“ he asked instead, apparently succeeding in shocking his captor to speechlessness anyway since a silence followed and they stopped swaying. Zayn continued speaking, a little awkward now, “I mean, it's kind of ridiculous, for a guy.” 

And it really was, from what he could tell without actually seeing it. He had let his hands climb up on his partner’s shoulders and neck in a semi-conscious effort to stay in control of the situation and could feel the soft brushes of bountiful curls on the backs of his palms every time the man moved his head. 

To Zayn’s surprise the man erupted into laughter against him and wrapped his arms tighter around Zayn’s chest. It wasn't an obnoxious laugh, just unrestrained. Sincere. “I'm told that a lot, even by people who can see me. I’m afraid they don’t always mean it as a compliment. Especially when it's coming from blokes.” 

When was 'ridiculous' ever a compliment, Zayn wondered incredulously. “Yeah, I guess that must be bit of a problem when you’re a po-“ He bit down on his tongue. What he’d almost said was probably an insult. What were the safe words again? 

“A poof, you meant to say? Why do you think I’m gay?” the man asked, not sounding the least bit offended. Was he teasing? Zayn couldn’t tell; it was surprisingly hard to detect what people meant just from their voices. He realized suddenly that they had all but stopped moving and were in fact basically just standing there intimately hugging each other. _If we close our eyes it could just be me and you_ , crooned Usher from the speakers, just to amp up the awkwardness. Zayn was just about to say something, anything to break the moment and finally extract himself from this tall, possibly gay man, when the music came to an abrupt stop. Delighted giggling and shrieks surrounded them as people helped themselves to whatever warm body was closest to them. 

“I um... think I’m really going to go now,” Zayn said, not so gently prompting away the strong fingers seemingly glued to his shoulder blades.

The other man wouldn’t budge. “I insist you give me a kiss!” His voice sounded playful, but perfectly serious at the same time. “Quickly, before Louis manages to plough through to us. Let’s give him a proper reason for that reprimanding look on his face.”

“You know Louis?” Zayn managed before his head was gently angled up into a wet, hasty smooch. He was released immediately afterwards, the hands withdrawing from his back and leaving behind damp spots. It had been getting rather hot in the room. _Or is it just me?_

“Harold! What _do_ you think you’re doing?” It was Louis’ voice now, coming from right next to them. “If I’d known you would do something like this, I wouldn’t have told you about Zayn. My club has rules!”

“What’s the harm?” the man, Harold, grumbled, barely audible to Zayn. He seemed to have backed off considerably. “I’m not breaking any laws.”

“Mate, you’re so shameless,” Louis sighed. “You didn’t even bother putting on a blindfold.”

Zayn blinked, remembering his own state. He’d got so used to not seeing that he’d almost forgotten his eyes were covered. He reached back to quickly untie the streamer around his face. Once his eyes were again met with the strobe light blinking half-darkness of the club house, he focused them on the tall (well, taller than Zayn) man standing in a slightly defensive posture next to Louis. Big brown hair, round toddler-ish eyes, black blazer, ugly brown boots and the skinniest skinny jeans he’d ever seen. Nope. Definitely never seen the guy in his life. 

“What’s... happening here?” He directed the question to Louis, but was unable to quite drag his eyes off of the toddler-eyed Harold, who really was sort of unusual looking. Pretty much what might come out if you threw a kitten, a Michelangelo statue and somebody's aunt into a magical molecule mixer. 

Louis sighed. “Can’t blame you for not recognizing him. He looks like such a hipster freak these days. This is Harry Styles. People tended to call him just Hazza back in school. Personally I’ve come to prefer Harold. He looks like such a Harold, doesn’t he?”

Hazza... Harry. That skinny, bit messed up lad in the year below them, who used to follow Louis around at school and barely talked to anyone? “Louis’s stalker!” Zayn blurted out in surprise. He hadn’t thought about that guy in years. 

Louis looked amused, tapping his fingers together. “You never did quite catch on, did you? It wasn’t me he was stalking.” 

Harry looked disgruntled at that and haughtily flipped his hair over his shoulder. “I wasn’t stalking him. It’s not like I was trying to hide it or anything.” He glanced quickly at Zayn and continued more bashfully. “I was awkward, he was dense and… and straight, I guess.” 

Zayn managed to get his brain working again. “Wait, you were stalking _me_?” Harry frowned and started to correct him, but Zayn didn’t give him the chance, putting his thoughts into words as they came to him. “I’m almost sure you never said a single word to me, ever. I haven’t even seen you since sixth form, and now you’re here...” 

“Shamelessly groping you, as established,” Louis cut in impatiently. Some curious clubbers were starting to pull down their blindfolds to see what the fuss was about. “I say we take this to my office. Let’s have some tea and a proper reunion like I originally suggested Harold here when I mentioned our dear old friend from school might pop in, hm?”

Harry rolled his eyes, but nevertheless gave Zayn an expectant look. There was something odd about the situation that had an uneasy feeling settling in Zayn's gut, but the strobe lights were starting to irritate his eyes and he couldn't think properly with all these people crowding up the space around him. Hopefully Louis’s office would at least be sound-proof.

“Yeah, okay, let’s go.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Louis' office was at the back of the club hall, quiet and comfy behind a pair of heavy-set doors and a short corridor, and Zayn sighed in relief as Louis ushered them in and pressed the final door firmly shut behind them. 

"Get comfortable, lads, while I put the kettle on. I'm afraid you'll have to settle for bagged tea; I haven't quite got around to setting up a proper system here yet. Busy life and all that." He gestured towards a set of plushy armchairs placed in a half-circle opposite a huge, sturdy-looking desk of polished dark wood.

Before Zayn got to taking as much as a step towards the armchairs, Harry blocked his way and took his hands in his own, eyes intense and unwavering in their attention. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, just now." Then he froze and dropped Zayn's hands as if they burned. "Sorry, I'm- Sorry. Again." He stuffed his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans and settled at eyeing Zayn from under his brows.

Zayn hesitated and then made a split-second decision. He was going to ignore the happenings on the dance floor for now and get properly re-acquainted with "Hazza". (Not that Zayn could really say to have ever known him, beyond a general sense of familiarity you tend to have with people you've been to school with.) “Nah, it's fine. No harm done. And anyway, that was pretty much the point of the game, getting felt up by random people." He offered Harry a genuine smile that he hoped conveyed polite friendliness and nothing else.

Harry nodded seriously, as if receiving the unspoken message, and then gestured towards sat down on the chair farthest to the left and after a visible moment of hesitation Harry sat on the farthest on the right, opposite to Zayn, hands curling around the arms as if ready to push himself up any moment. Thankfully they didn't have to sit there awkwardly staring at each other in silence waiting for Louis to fix the tea as the electric kettle turned out to be an exceptionally noisy one, rumbling increasingly loudly as the water neared its boiling point.

There was a wall of monitors covering the wall behind Louis' desk, displaying black and white footage of various parts of the club hall, and Zayn turned to examine them with great interest. The other party-goers seemed to be already moving on from the blind groping to another game, this one involving fluffy, glow-in-the-dark pillows strewn all over the floor. 

"What's going on there?" he asked curiously once the kettle had stopped making a racket, finding his feelings towards the games considerably more benevolent now that he was no longer in danger of having to participate in them.

"Hm? Oh, it's sort of like singing chairs but with pillows. Except for the part that no one gets outed and no pillows get taken away. People just basically keep falling on top of each other." Louis gave a shrug at Zayn's incredulous face. "What can I say, my friend? Drunken people are easy to please." 

"I guess. D'you come up with all the games yourself, then?" It was something Zayn could actually easily picture Louis doing, conjuring absurd little numbers to entertain the wrecked and randy.

"Mostly, yeah. Niall has ideas too, sometimes. Bad ones, mostly. Remember him? He was only in our school for half a year with us, but we got quite close later on, him and me. He's my partner in business nowadays, as a matter of fact. In charge of sound technique and such."

Zayn nodded slowly, blurred images of blond hair and braces flitting through his mind. He wondered with some unease exactly how many of their old school mates Louis was still in touch with. Was he only one who'd gone away and cut all ties?

“So, uh, Zayn. What do _you_ do these days? As in, for a living?” Harry joined in the conversation, voice so laboriously polite that Zayn had to hide a smile. Even the way the man was sat in his armchair was so ridiculously prim and proper that Zayn couldn't help but be almost... endeared? Yes, endeared was right. Probably explained why he wasn't bothered by the kiss in the club hall. In fact, Harry was probably one of the least imposing looking men he'd ever met.

“He’s an English teacher, of all things. Can you believe it?” Louis answered on his behalf, trotting over to hand Zayn and Harry their steaming mugs. 

Harry's stiff posture slackened in surprise. “Seriously? What about the band? I thought for sure you'd end up doing something with music."

Zayn shrugged noncommittally, burrowing further into his chair. “I wasn’t that good at it, really. I never even cared for the music we played. I guess I just went along with everyone else. They needed a vocalist and no one else was up for it.” A slight bending of truth, that. It wasn't like anyone had to force Zayn; in fact, he'd all but leaped at the opportunity to front a band. Not because he was all that keen on singing in front of people, but because it was yet another group to belong to, another way of being part of something and not alone. But what would Harry and Louis say if he straight up told them he'd just wanted to fit in with the white kids?

Harry was chewing on his lower lip. “But your voice was amazing. I even started playing the guitar and everything to impress you with my musical abilities.”

“Harry’s in a legit band with original material and everything," Louis explained, hopping up on the edge of his desk with his own mug of tea as he spoke. It was a fairly high desk and his legs were rather on the stumpy side but he made the jump with ease. "The Red Robinsons they're called. Ever heard their stuff? They've had some decent radio play on local stations. Some say this could be their breakout year nationally."

Zayn shook his head apologetically; he rarely listened to the radio. "You started playing because of me?" he instead asked Harry, who nodded eagerly, obviously happy to have Zayn's attention on him. 

"I figured I'd become really good and then, like, audition and become a second guitarist in your band. Your bandmates never really warmed up to me, though, so I guess I was a little ambitious with that." He chuckled awkwardly. "I can't really blame them. I wasn't at all cool back then. I mean, it's not like I'm cool _now_ , but I'm definitely cooler than I was in school, so. Yeah." 

Zayn hesitated, trying to remember witnesssing any situations in which his band mates might have been in contact with Harry. Absolutely none came to mind. Not that he could still remember any situation in which Harry would have interacted with anyone at all, apart from teachers. How odd to think that this was the same person. Looking at him now, Harry seemed to belong to that group of people who pulls you in from the get go and about whom you will never utter a malicious word, if not out of jealousy. 

And yet in Harrogate Harry had definitely fallen into the social outcast category by sheer virtue of looking and acting a little funny. Zayn cringed suddenly as he imagined how brutes the likes of Max George had reacted to an oddball like Harry, with his brown leather messenger bag and round vintage glasses. 'Not warming up' was likely putting it mildly. "I'm sorry if they were arseholes to you. And if- if I was too."

Harry looked honestly surprised, but Louis ran over him before he got a word out of his mouth. "I think we were all a bit dickish towards Harry, to be honest. Guess he was just such an easy target. Never got his knickers in a twist about anything. Once we even wrote this super embarrassing love letter in his name to his favourite teacher, Ms Flack, and he just laughed it off. Like, there was stuff about him rubbing himself under the desk in her classes and everything." Louis let out a bit of laughter that seemed to come from the throat rather than the belly. "Who the hell doesn't get mad at that! And then there was this one time when we stole his trousers when he was-"

“You know," Harry interrupted loudly and then coughed in embarrassment at the volume of his voice before starting again, more quietly, in his customary pleasant drawl, "You know, for a while I kind of thought you became a model. I kept seeing you in magazines. Like, in those clothing ads?” He stared intently at Zayn, clearly willing him to drop the previous subject. 

“Oh, right," Zayn said slowly, eyeing Louis, who had a slightly regretful expression on his impish face. An unusual sight, that. "That was just something I did to get through uni, actually. Paid decently."

Harry nodded as if this was the most fascinating tidbit of information ever. "I suppose it's one of those things you're glad to have experienced, though?"

"Perhaps that's how I'll see it one day. It really was just about the money, though. And free clothes," Zayn said skeptically. It wasn’t that he was particularly ashamed of his brief modeling days, but nor did he particularly care to be reminded of them. All those ads had gathered him a bit of a reputation. Some of his uni friends still referred to him as "Mr. Calvin Klein".

“Oh. You always looked gorgeous, though,” Harry said earnestly. In fact, everything he said was so _earnest_ that Zayn was sure Gwendolen Fairfax herself would have approved of him without hearing his name.

“I'm not surprised you think that way, Harold. You have a bunch of those pictures taped on your bathroom wall, after all," Louis put in conversationally from the desk, apparently incapable of not teasing Harry for longer than two minutes.

Harry shot a severe little frown in Louis' direction, visibly flustered, and offered Zayn a pained but good-natured smile. "I don't."

“Come now, nothing to be ashamed of there. Young lads with needs and all that," Louis continued mercilessly, swinging his right foot on where it was perched on his other leg. He wasn't wearing any socks in his scruffy toms, which reminded Zayn of the endless trouble he'd got into with teachers because of it.

“I really don’t. Have them on- on my wall or anything,” Harry denied again, a bit exasperated now, eyeing Zayn worriedly. “I’m really not a creeper like that." He paused to briefly press his lips together. "I wasn't in school either. I mean I really did try to talk to you. It just didn't really take off.”

"He really did try," Louis confirmed, sobering up a little, and let the dangling leg drop on the desk. "You tended to always brush him off. I- well _we_ used to feel rather sorry for him because of it, actually. Maybe that even helped us see what kind of twats we were being and start treating Haz like a proper person around graduation time. You of course left for Leeds soon after, which was a bit of a shame since Harry grew to be a right lad that summer. I bet he would've swept you right off your feet had you stayed to see it."

Zayn shifted uncomfortably in his seat, awkward and out of words. Exactly how big of a wanker had he been in school? He genuinely couldn't remember Harry ever approaching him. Of course he hadn't been completely oblivious to his existence, but in his memories Harry had always been trailing after _Louis_ , like the most loyal of dogs or like an asteroid on an endless, wobbly loop around the Earth. Perhaps it had been Zayn that was the Earth with Harry as his asteroid, which of course made Louis the Sun.

Louis the Sun King, that's what everyone had in fact indeed called him, students and teachers alike, albeit in varying tones of voice. It wasn't that Louis was ever the most charismatic or the cleverest of boys, but he had the ability to absorb the attention of other people and turn it into a kind of energy, an endless source of fuel for various ways to annoy teachers and anyone not within his little clique. Par one or two occasions, it had never been malicious and most people took his antics and comments with a dose of humour and an eye-roll, but perhaps Zayn's memory was playing tricks on him. Now, with the wisdom and distance of years, he could admit that he'd never quite quit seeing Louis through rose-tinted glasses. 

Zayn had himself been the quintessential follower. Always trailing after those bigger and/or louder than him, content with melting in their shadow and letting others speak for him. He'd always excused it with his background later; being one of the few non-white kids in the school and the only one in his year had basically put him in the survival mode from day one starting with the very first "dirty paki" thrown his way. The second he'd met Louis and realized his potential, he'd latched on to him, learned all there was to know about him and made himself useful. His instincts had been right; a kind of gang had soon gathered around Louis and within weeks solidified into a tight-knit little unit, with various hangers-on and admirers out and about its edges. Zayn had been right at the core of Louis' posse: the method in his madness and the brain behind his craziest schemes. 

"What are you thinking about?" Harry cut in his thoughts in a low, hesitant voice.

"That I'm probably one of those kids so deep up their own arses that they didn't realize how good they had it," Zayn said.

Harry shuffled uncomfortably in his seat and yelped when some hot tea spilled on his trousers. "It's uh... not like you were actually mean to me. Or anyone else. I should know; I was always watching."

"But I wasn't nice to you either, was I?" Zayn fixated on Harry's long fingers uselessly rubbing the spot where a stain had already formed at his knee, wondering exactly how rose-tinted _Harry's_ glasses must have been and possible still were. "I'm really sorry."

Harry stared at him and then back at the knee, fiddling with the stain. Somehow the same features that had appeared confident and playful before now appeared blank and lost, and Zayn racked his brain for the right thing to say. Perhaps Harry would've preferred to forget all about those times and an apology had been the exact wrong move. 

The silence was stretching into awkward territory, and eventually Harry turned to Louis, hunched and subdued on the desk, in an unveiled plea for help. Catching his cue, Louis straightened his back like a rooster preparing to usher in the dawn, and his legs started to swing back and forth, drumming the side of the desk. "I'll say, enough of this sappy shit. Why don't I tell you all the weird shit that everyone else has been up to these years", he started and quickly eased into a vigorous and lengthy recount about the current whereabouts and livelihoods of their former school mates. Harry quickly cheered up as well, laughing and nodding when needed, with the occasional supplementary remark thrown in. Zayn, however, remained mostly silent, zooming in and out of his thoughts, each new name mentioned sending him on yet another meandering trajectory of thought in his head.

All those people whose faces had formed the backdrop of the most formative years of his life but to whom Zayn had still barely spared a thought after graduation, as if they'd never really mattered. It appeared to him now that he had in fact, either consciously or without realizing it, completely rejected that part of his life. It couldn't be because he'd been particularly miserable at the time - he definitely hadn't been. But there was nevertheless a kind of vague but pervasive unease tacked to those years. Why was that? He'd been a good student, he'd got on with all his teachers, and he had people to talk to in class and eat with at lunch. People he most certainly would have referred to as his friends at the time. Had it all been a lie? Had he actually faked his way through Harrogate, conscious of how good the name of the school would look on his uni application, pretending to fit in and sympathize with what he now recognized as burgeoning white Tory conformism? 

Not that Louis could ever have been accused of conformism of any sort, as the young Zayn had probably instinctively realized. Indeed, perhaps that one friendship at least hadn't been a complete fabrication, even if Zayn couldn't remember ever having hung out with Louis outside school. He'd always excused himself with the long bus-ride he had to take back to Bradford and his mother wanting him home for tea. Louis had never seemed to take offense at that. Indeed, when he'd run into Zayn the other day and invited him for a look around the Office he'd been seemingly nothing but thrilled to see him despite Zayn having all but sunk underground for all these years. 

And then there was Harry. Harry, who had legit grounds for all but disliking him and wanting nothing to do with him, but who seemed to have gone the extra mile to more or less chat him up. What was up with that? What had Zayn ever done to deserve it?

***

When Zayn finally got off the taxi in front of his building later that night it was almost four in the morning. Harry had tried offering him a ride in his car, but Zayn had (not very convincingly) claimed he had a friend picking him up. He felt a little guilty about it, but he really didn't feel like being alone with Harry right now. He had promised to go back tomorrow, though. Apparently it was the Office's second year anniversary, and in honour of it there would be a fancy dress party. He'd tried saying he didn't have a costume and that he had work to do, but Harry's eyes had started blinking rapidly and his lips got wobbly and Zayn crumbled at the face of it, agreeing to pop in for an hour or two. 

It was really just as well, he thought as he fished his keys out of the pocket of his denim jacket and opened the door to his fifth floor flat. He probably would've gone back soon anyway. To tie loose threads he hadn't known to be loose. Or something. He was going to have to sort out his thoughts on that later. With an exhausted sigh, he shuffled out of his jacket and shoes and headed straight into the toilet to strip off the rest of his clothes and stuff them into a laundry basket. 

Once done with his meticulous toiletry routine, he made a quick tour around the flat, straightening pillows and making sure all the windows were locked, musing how major he'd lucked out in the housing market. The two bedroom flat he inhabited with his colleague Aleem was spacious and in decent condition, with a beautiful view over the city. In addition to the bedrooms - out of which he had drawn the bigger one - there was a kitchen and a lounge neatly conjoined into one big space, a balcony, and quite a bit of storage space in the form of a roomy, walk-in airing cupboard at the heart of the flat. 

He felt endlessly tired and heavy with the need to sleep all his thoughts away, but when he finally tucked himself into bed expecting to be immediately whisked away into dreamless, colourless wasteland with no name... nothing happened. Instead of white nothingness he found himself staring at the ceiling, going through all the kids in his classes, one by one, wondering if he'd missed something in their seemingly cheerful, well-adjusted ranks and if some of them were actually lonely or bullied or just in general felt like they couldn't cope. Like George, the chubby boy in front row, always smiling, always on time and always done with his homework, but who never seemed to be talking to anyone in class and who was always last to find a partner for assignments. Maybe Zayn should look into that. Try and talk to him, show he cared.

Or was he reading into things? Maybe George had plenty of friends that Zayn just didn't know about. Maybe Zayn prying into his life would only serve to creep him out and lead into him disliking English classes. Oh god, maybe he was just confusing the boy with Harry. He even had the same mop of brown hair. And the same gentle disposition, like he wanted nothing more than to please. There was even something similar in the way they sat and in the way they stared at Zayn, utterly fixated and serious, as if Zayn was something unique and special. Important. He didn't have Harry's hands, though. No, George's hand were quite small and unremarkable whereas Harry's hands were long and spindly and expressive. And they had felt so gentle and firm on his back in the darkness of the hall-

With a pained groan Zayn maneuvered himself onto his front, pressing his face deep into the mattress. Clearly, this was going to be a long, long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate writing and writing hates me. :(


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot all about this story when I ragequit the fandom, and now I can't find the fourth chapter! It's somewhere on my computer, probs under some stupid file name :/ But while I search for it, have the 3rd chapter. I also have an outline and some paras done for the final chapter, so I may actually manage to finish this fic before the year is over, lol. (This is what you get when you try to make a pwp into a legit story...)
> 
> (Sorry about that vodka martini part, I don't know why it's there, I think I was drunk when I wrote it o.o)
> 
> Oh, and the song Zayn paraphrases is "I Ain't Goin (A Hustler's Theme)" by Three 6 Mafia. Great song, go listen to it if you don't know it.

 

On Saturday Zayn woke around three in the afternoon, groggy and a tad wobbly on his feet but imbued with a strange kind of determination. He felt like a decision had been made. He didn't know what it was yet, but the vortex of discomfort and survivor guilt he'd got caught up in the day before had all but vanished. He felt good. Like he was ready for whatever the night would bring and would make all the right decisions and say all the right words at the right times. Like he'd downed a vial of Felix Felicix in his sleep.  
  
Sleep _was_ Zayn's Felix Felicis. People in his life were always going on about there being something wrong with him physically, what with the endless naps and drawn out mornings messing up their plans, but it was really quite the opposite. Zayn needed sleep to function. When sleep-deprived life quickly became almost unbearable. People seemed a thousand times louder and stupider, even the simplest of obstacles appeared insurmountable, and nothing seemed interesting or worth getting fired up about.   
  
Even when Zayn was getting his minimum of nine hours a night, he preferred to sneak in at least two, preferably three, 20 minute naps, if humanly possible. At work he spent most of his lunch hour curled up in his comfy work chair, headphones lulling him to Bedfordshire with some Kanye or Kendrick. It had given him a reputation of being rather unsociable, but people had soon got the message and made sure to stay in the coffee room to let him nap in peace at his desk. Lunch break in general was after all sacred to most teachers.  
  
The point was that Zayn had slept a solid amount of hours to feel confident and well-rested, which was half-way there to solving the issue he was currently facing. Thus, he went about his usual Saturday schedule of cleaning around the flat and cooking supper with a feeling of calm preparation and once done with the usual jobs about the house sat down to work for a few hours. Clad in a hoody and a pair of old joggers, he settled down on the settee, propped his feet on the arm at the other end, and steadfastly immersed himself in the nebulous views of modern poetry brought to him by the endlessly inventive minds of his fifth formers, television blaring quietly in the background as he read and read and read, till his eyes hurt and brain throbbed.  
  
Most teachers ended up working through the bulk of their end-of-year marking mountain during the break but Zayn was planning to spend his Christmas stress-free for once. There was a good two weeks left of school so it seemed like a feasible feat still. At first he'd made the mistake thinking he'd better get into working mode in some secluded café, sipping tea and pausing occasionally to see what the rest of the clientele were up to. There was no such thing as a secluded café in December, as he had rapidly come to realise. The moment he'd sat down a middle-aged woman loaded with Sainsbury's shopping bags and a two-year-old on her hip asked if they could share a table since all the others were taken. A minute later she handed Zayn her baby while she 'popped to the loo for a sec' and that was how he spent one of the most nerve-wrecking forty minutes of his life, bouncing a stranger's sniffling infant child on his knee while praying the lady hadn't just ditched them as the minutes ticked by and the woman remained gone.  
  
In the end the woman had come back, profusely apologetic, and paid for Zayn's tea as thanks before re-loading her arms with the baby and the rest of her belongings and sauntering off. It had been one of those random every day encounters that make up one's day and it was only after a pensive stroll through Park Square that he realized why it was having such an effect on him. Amidst the worry and the increasing panic there'd been moments there, sitting in that crowded café with that little girl, when he'd wondered if this could have been his life in an alternate universe. Having a cuppa with his wife after a morning spent shopping for ugly tableware for that auntie no one liked, their baby daughter cranky and tired after hours of walking about.  
  
It _could_ have been his life. It was certainly how he'd imagined his life less than five years ago. He'd taken it for granted that he'd be married with kids by thirty, residing cramped but cozy in some over-priced, under-heated rental in the city centre, of perpetually meager means and busy with work but nevertheless happy in each other's company. He was almost 27 now with no wife or kids in sight. His last serious relationship had ended almost three years ago when she'd decided to move back to Ireland after being offered a position at Dublin university and a long distance relationship had soon proved not worth the hazzle. After that there'd been no one noteworthy in Zayn's life but it wasn't like he'd bothered looking very vigorously. Mostly he'd assumed there'd simply be someone eventually, sooner rather than later, and that things would naturally progress from there if only because they would be at that age when you generally start feeling like settling down. That he'd just run into a woman around his age, in possession of all the traits he was generally attracted to, and they'd go for it.  
  
Zayn did in fact run into someone while leaving Park Square, albeit not anyone he'd ever considered marrying. Louis was talking on the phone, his high, slightly scratchy voice immediately shooting up sparks of recognition up Zayn's spine. He looked around frantically, trying to place the voice, and saw a man in a short fur-trimmed coat and baggy joggers striding along some ten feet ahead, evidently in a hurry. Zayn wasn't really one to approach people he'd lost contact with, but this was Louis Tomlinson, the boy he'd once considered his best friend. He quickened his steps, waiting patiently until the phone call was over before gently placing his hand on Louis' shoulder. It was a joyous reunion but Louis had really been in a hurry, which was why they had barely changed numbers before already parting ways. Later that day Zayn had received a text message inviting him to the Office on Friday and had promptly agreed to stop by, albeit mostly out of curiosity and with the expectation they would part ways again afterwards.

  
  
  
At nine Zayn had finally seen one too many apostrophes in wrong places and rolled off the settee, pausing to pop all the bones in his back before proceeding into indulging himself with a long, scalding hot shower. While languidly lathering himself with lilac-scented bubbles he allowed his thoughts to focus on the party he was to be attending and the fact that he did in fact not have a costume for it. He could of course always go without one, but it seemed a little rude and he didn't want to stick out in the crowd. What were his options, though? A white sheet with holes for eyes?

Luckily, a good half hour rummaging through Aleem's closet revealed a slightly dusty, see-through garment bag enclosing a pristine Armani suit Zayn vaguely recalled his flatmate been given as a graduation gift. There was no price tag in sight but the weight and feel of the fabric told him it was probably not one of those cheap, off-the-peg suits you could get for as little as £700. Zayn knew Aleem's family to be quite well-off so this wasn't all that surprising even though Aleem himself went to considerable lengths to downplay that fact. Which was why Zayn could be quite certain that his flatmate wouldn't mind him borrowing it. Besides, Aleem was unlikely to ever get down to actually wearing the suit himself, not with the increasingly noticable beer gut bulging out his midriff. 

Mind made up, Zayn spread out the suit on his bed and then rummaged through his own closet for a dress shirt and shoes to go with it. Once all suited up, he spent another half an hour in front of the toilet mirror, working his hair into a smooth, side-partitioned quiff, temples slick and tight against the head. A white pocket square and a black bow tie he didn't remember owning completed the look. It didn't feel like an authentic James Bond without a toy gun or something along those lines but it was too late for any additional shopping. It was almost eleven anyway and about time he phoned a taxi if he wanted to be back home before dawn.  
  
***  
  
The party at the Office was in full swing by the time Zayn was ushered in, by special admission after the doors had already closed for the night. Tonight the loft was lit with electronic torches standing on, setting the mood somewhere between tribal and extraterrestrial. There were also gigantic white beach balls majestically soaring and falling above the revelry, occasionally knocking those not paying attention off their feet. Elaborate tissue paper creations from bells and floral shapes to Mexican papel picado hung from the ceiling in white, pink, and neon yellow. All of it was in stark contrast with the warehouse's gloomy 19th century tile exterior, and Zayn couldn't quite decide if he liked it. While his personal tastes veered towards the modern and contemporary, converting the industrial past of the north into an irreverent 21st century hybrid seemed wrong somehow, no matter how visually pleasing.

The amount of people seemed to have doubled since the night before and if the crowd had been colourful then, the costumes now on display made it seem as though a full-blown circus had set up residence in the loft. Apparently the games had started early that night since people seemed to walking about with slips of paper in their hands, leaning in each other's ears for brief exchanges before continuing on to the next person. 

With a sigh of resignation, Zayn made a bee-line to the bar, wide and octagon-shaped on the left, this time determined to get a drink down his throat before being made to socialize with these free spirits. On his way to the counter he had to brush off a female Freddie Mercury, an admittedly knock-out Mother of Dragons, and a heavily intoxicated Thor clad only in a leather loincloth, all three waving about those little paper slips, and a reluctant grin was starting to grow on his face; their overabundant enthusiasm was awfully contagious. He even gave in to the delighted bartender, dressed as retro Batman, and ordered a 'shaken not stirred' vodka martini in his best slurred Scottish. It was a drink he used to make as a student whenever he had an important paper to finish; there was no better way for him to get into a writing mood than cheap vodka in his blood and classic Motown in his headphones. 

"How would you like to try it with a little twist?" the bartender suggested, raising his voice over the music. "Strawberry vodka martinis have been quite a hit lately."

"Alright. I have a bit of a sweet tooth," Zayn admitted, watching with interest as the man took out a shaker and two bottles, one spherical with pink liquid in it and the other a slim smoked one with a picture of flying geese.

"This is Grey Goose Vodka and this is Chambord, raspberry liqueur." The bartender started making the drink by pouring out the vodka, then a smaller amount of liqueur. Next he opened a mini-fridge under the counter and brought a small glass jar with some sort of clear goo in it. "Simple sugar syrup this. I'll only add a pinch so the end result won't be too sweet." He opened the jar and used a small spoon to scoop some syrup into the shaker. "Now we only need the strawberries and the ice." He reached down again to fetch a bowl full of strawberries, took out a handful, and mushed them with the side of a knife's blade. They too went into the shaker. And then the final ingredient, the ice, came of course from the icer maker machine in the form of tiny little cubes. 

"Did you know that vodka martini is in fact not a martini at all?" the bartender asked as he started vigorously shaking the mix, biceps bulging.   
  
"Um, no, I didn't. Why not?"

"Actual martinis are made with gin, not vodka. It's sort of like a koala isn't in fact a bear."

"Oh, I see." Zayn wasn't 100 percent sure that he did, but this man had such a nice, genuine smile and a smooth tenor voice that had put him immediately at ease so he only nodded. 

The bartender took out a frosty martini glass and poured it full "Here you go, one strawberry vodka martini. Not the only way to make these, and certainly not the cheapest, but you can't claim it doesn't taste like quality."

Zayn sipped out of his glass and immediately choked, eyes tearing up. "Oh, wow. This is really strong. But very good." He took another, much longer sip, this time savouring the taste.

"Excellent. By the way, you _are_  Louis' friend, aren't you? Zayn."  
  
"Yeah, I am. Did he mention I was coming?"

"Yup. That's Louis for you. Always looking after people behind their backs. The drink is on the house, naturally."

"Oh, thank yo-" A hand landed on his shoulder from behind and a low voice rumbled right next to his ear: "You wouldn't happen to like spanking, would you?"  
  
Apprehensively, Zayn swiveled around on his seat, crossing his fingers it wasn't the loin-clothed Thor; better not make a habit out of being accosted by men in clubs. He was however met with two familiar dimples visible amidst what looked like curly whiskers painted on the tanned cheeks of a familiar face. As Harry pulled back a little, Zayn could see the rest of his costume, a black cat suit made of some type of fuzzy fleece. His trademark wavy hair had been neatly tucked away under the furry hood of his costume making his face seem even more open and friendly than usual.  
  
"It's one of my questions," Harry continued a little sheepishly, fiddling with a slip of paper. "It's a scavenger hunt, see. You're supposed to find one person saying yes to each of your four questions. There's prizes involved."  
  
Zayn only nodded noncommittally, quite happy to not have arrived in time to take part in this particular activity. Harry gave him a lopsided little smile and stuffed the slip of paper in a pocket around the baggy mid-section of his suit. It was followed by a brief uncomfortable moment during which they only stared at each other, and Zayn came to the ucomfortable realization his heart was hammering much more erratically than there was really any reason to. Had he even said hello yet?  
  
"So, Mr Bond. Nice suit," Harry remarked, beating him to it.  
  
"Erm, thanks. You too... Mr Mistoffeles?"   
  
Harry blinked. "Is he the one that does magic tricks? I didn't think of any specific cat when I had this made. It's actually just a onesie I wasn't really using anymore and a friend sewed in ears and a tail."  
  
"It's nice. Suits you," Zayn said sincerely, deciding to not linger on the fact that Harry was apparently in the habit of wearing onesies. "So, uh, what's in store for the night?"  
  
"Well, since it's a special night, Louis' trying a new format. There's gonna be, like, a series of games taking place at the centre of the hall, on that dais over there at the back. Only a handful of people can participate at a time, with everyone else acting as the audience. And there's prizes for all the winners. Some of them are pretty good, too. Like, smart phones and stuff. So, if you want to take part...?"  
  
"No," Zayn said quickly. "No, I'm probably- better off not taking part."  
  
"Are you that traumatized by yesterday?"  
  
There was a hint of awkwardness in Harry's teasing smile, as if he wasn't quite whether or no jokes about last night were allowed. Zayn was, however, determined to right things between them and get on a more secure footing with Harry. He smiled reassuringly and gave the taller man a light punch on the shoulder with his fist. "Anyone would be. You and your giant hands and pet tales of doom."  
  
The smile that split Harry's face was blinding. "Duly noted. No more pet tales. I won't make promises on the hands, though." He extended a hand (paw, actually, since he was wearing some sort of furry gloves) to gently nudge at Zayn's cheek and then grabbed his hand. "Come on, let's get good seats by the stage so we'll see everything that goes on. I think Niall will be announcing the end of the scavenger hunt any moment now."  
  
Shaking off the unexpected little flush creeping up his neck, Zayn let himself be led and together he and Harry waded through the crowd towards the centre dais, their interlocked hands seeming to keep people from making any advances on them. There were crescent shaped little booths littered on the floor around the stage and it was towards those that Harry directed their steps. Most of the booths were already occupied, as people gradually began gathering in for the main show, but the one that Harry and Zayn stopped at had a paper cone sitting on the round table with the text "TAKEN" running down a side.  
  
"Here you go, please sit down," Harry said, gesturing for Zayn to sit down first on the white vinyl seat. Then he snatched the paper cone off the table with attempted nonchalance that he immediately ruined by crumbling it as if it had satanic verses written on it.  
  
"Guess we didn't have to worry about not getting good seats after all," Zayn said with a teasing smile and patted Harry reassuringly on the shoulder when the taller man made an awkward grimace. "Stop fretting, Harry, I'm not going to run away just because you reserved us a table."  
  
"Sorry. I'll try to stop."  
  
The moment they were seated the bartender popped up out of nowhere with a pair of glasses and a bottle of wine, offering them a wide smile as he set them on the table. "Louis sends his regards."  
  
"He's not joining us?" Zayn asked, surprised.  
  
The bartender blinked. "Ah, no? I was told-"  
  
"Off you go, Liam, you've done your part. I've got this," Harry interrupted, making shooing gestures towards the bartender, who gave him a dry look and stalked off, cape fluttering dramatically behind him. "Um, I thought we could just chat on our own tonight," Harry said once he was out of hearing distance. "I mean, Louis _is_ the manager and technically at work, and I wouldn't want to keep him from doing his job..."  
  
Zayn shook his head, even more amused than before. "It's fine with me. I have his number."  
  
"Great. Why don't we have some wine then and relax until Niall-"  
  
"Welcome welcome welcome, dear cheery, night-dwelling revellers, _toooo THE OFFICE!_ " thundered a thick Irish accent from the loudspeakers over the music, startling them both. "My name is Niall Horan and, as you all know, today is our anniversary, thanks to you all", he paused to let the ensuing loud cheers pass, "and we have decided to celebrate by presenting you with something a little different from our usual shenanigans. As you can see, at the centre there is a raised platform, a stage in other words, and it is there that the main entertainment of tonight will take place. It is up to you how much fun you're going to have, so I'm encouraging everyone to take part and volunteer for the amazing selection of brand new games that your fantastic host Louis Tomlinson and his loyal band of mastermind assistants have come up with. And of course there are some fantastic prizes just waiting to be handed over to you should you prove victorious. Soooo, let the games BEGIN!"  
  
Harry inched closer to Zayn on the vinyl seat to talk over the erupting cheers. "Not changing your mind about participating?"  
  
Zayn eyed the disorderly crowd vying for better view all around them on the floor and firmly shook his head. "I'll just watch, thanks." He was fully expecting either an orgy or a brawl to break out any moment.  
  
What actually followed, however, was a cavalcade of irrefutably entertaining games of varying degrees of naughtiness. A spaghetti eating contest with half-naked contestants as plates, a game that involved swapping pieces of clothing, one with balloons filled with either jelly or cream. Zayn's favourite was the game dubbed Brooms and Rolls in which half the people hopped around with toilet rolls between their thighs and the other half were "riding" on broom sticks, their mission to penetrate as many rolls as they could in a set time. Harry was delighted to reveal it had been his suggestion after witnessing it in his sister's hen party. Which presented Zayn a segue to ask him more details about his family, which led Harry into a lengthy tale of how he had attempted and failed to follow his sister into doing a law degree, which in turn led to Zayn elaborating on his own studies and how he'd ended up teaching at West Academy.

"Is it because of the emphasis on performing arts?"Harry asked. "I'd expect you to be pretty involved with that stuff."

"Yeah, I am, and it was definitely a big reason why I wanted to teach there. Equally important were the facts that it's a state school - had my share of public school in Harrogate, thanks - and that it's pretty diverse. You know, culturally."

Harry looked contemplative. "I guess it was sometimes pretty awful at our school, being the one of the few, uh-"

Zayn shrugged, not wanting to get into it right now. "I've put it past me, really. And I had... friends. Louis was my shield, I guess you could you say."

"I used to be awfully jealous of him, about how you were always glued to him." Harry laughed. "I said that to Louis too, long afterwards, and he was appalled. He said you were pretty much a younger brother he never had."

Zayn laughed too but inside he cringed a little, once again feeling guilty about leaving his friend behind so completely and without a word of goodbye. He took a long sip from his wine glass and proceeded to changing the subject, now asking Harry to elaborate on how exactly Louis had ended up founding the Office of all places.  
  
The longer they talked the closer they got on the settee in an effort of trying to better hear each other speak over the screams and laughter. And while wine most defnitely contributed to his general relaxed state of being, there was no really way for Zayn to blame the alcohol for the pleasant little tingles running up and down his arms whenever he and Harry made eye contact, or for the completely unwarranted chuckles he kept letting out at Harry's outstandingly flat jokes. He was also acutely and not unappreciatively aware of the heavy arm resting on the back of the booth and pressing along the slope of his hunched shoulders when Harry leaned forward to comment on the happenings on the stage, lips so close to the skin behind Zayn's ear he couldn't make out the words much of the time.   
  
A much bigger problem than his inability to understand incoherent mumbling was the fact Harry's husky murmurs and wet whispers on the side and sometimes back of his neck were slowly but surely turning Zayn on, whether intentionally seductive or not. He was losing track of time and his surroundings, only capable of focusing on the warm body next to him. Then he felt a hand slowly but confidently feeling their way on his waist, squeezing gently, and then slithering onto his stomach where it splayed there against the thin fabric of his dress shirt, big and warm, making all the muscles in Zayn's abdomen tense. Undecided on how to react or what to say, whether to encourage it or not, Zayn let his own hands rest tentatively on Harry's knuckles, feeling the knobby bones twitching in response. His thoughts were a tangled mess. He really liked Harry. Really genuinely liked him. They could have been fantastic friends, he was sure. But that was obviously not what Harry was aiming for here.  
  
"If you don't want to," Harry murmured against the back of his head, breath hot and damp against his hair. He didn't say anything further, clearly waiting for Zayn to make his consent explicit before venturing further.  
  
Shit, what should he say? This wasn't a good idea, plain and simple, but it was so hard to think with anything but his dick right now with Harry's fingers right above it, promising fun times.  
  
"I'm just gonna go ahead with this. Tell me to stop if- if it's not okay," Harry mumbled as no answer came forth and let the hand on Zayn's stomach slide further down to the button of his trousers. Zayn sat absolutely still, fingers still resting unsurely on Harry's as they eased the metal button out of its hole and pulled the zipper down, warily scanning the club to see if anyone was paying them attention. Mostly people seemed to be occupied with either the happenings of the stage or each other, but it didn't make Zayn any less anxious about getting it on in the middle of them all.  
  
And yet, he wasn't doing anything to stop Harry when he pulled Zayn's shirt out of the trousers and slid his hand up and underneath it, on the bare skin of his by now almost painfully taut stomach. The touch of Harry's fingers was light and ticklish and instinctively Zayn pushed the hand lower, away from his sensitive spots. Harry seemed to interpret it as a go ahead for a brisker pace and promptly plunged his hand down Zayn's trousers and into his boxer briefs where it curled loosely around his dick. Reflexively, Zayn gripped the wrist of the intruding hand with both of his own hands, swallowing repeatedly in shock at the onslaught of pleasure. It felt good, very good, but at the same time his body was fighting it, his muscles straining of their accord. He felt like a string pulled too taut to quiver.   
  
A couple of shuddery breaths later Zayn noticed how unexpectedly smooth the palm of Harry's hand was. It was familiar and safe, and the length of his cock was slowly swelling under the soft pads of Harry's fingers and when they twitched in response, a spike of pleasure rippled through his body. From the muscles and skin of his hip joints and thighs to the lower legs, to his feet and the very tips of his toes. And upwards too, into his chest and down the lengths of his arms. He released a breath he felt like he'd been holding ever since Harry had started sidling up to him. "C'mon, then," he murmured, as much to Harry as to himself. "Gonna do it or what?" He rolled his head back to rest on Harry's shoulder, his eyes flicking shut as he felt the furry material of the cat costume tickling the back of his neck.  
  
Harry's body deflated behind him as he released a breath that he too seemed to have been holding and he fitted his left arm higher around Zayn's waist for support as the other worked around the stiffening flesh of his cock. Zayn's trousers were too tight and Harry's hand too big for there to be much movement, the stiff denim enclosing Harry's thick fingers snug and tight around his erection, his fist forming an almost painful pressure against his balls. It felt like his the beating of his heart in his chest was increasingly subdued and most of his blood had gathered into his cock where it pulsed stronger and stronger as Harry began to squeeze in a stilted kind of rhythm, as if he had trouble controlling his movements. It was really more of a massage than a hand job, which was probably for the better; no one liked chafing.  
  
On the stage a striptease competition kicked off and Harry started half-humming, half-singing along to Big Spender, his warm, husky voice even nicer right against Zayn's ear. "The minute you walked in the joint, _bah_ duh, I could see you were a man of distinction.... A real big spender... good looking, so refined..."  
  
Zayn shook his head, smiling. "I'm a secondary school English teacher. My pockets ain't swollen or my bankroll foldin'."  
  
"You're not fooling me, Mr Bond. Choose your next witticism carefully — it may be your last. The purpose of our two previous encounters is now very clear to me. I do not intend to be distracted by another," Harry drawled out dramatically.  
  
Zayn clung helplessly to Harry's arms as realization dawned and laughter shook his chest. "Oh God- that's from Goldfinger, isn't it?"  
  
"It's a classic," Harry pouted. "And Ms Galore is an iconic character, I'll have you know."  
  
Zayn snorted feebly and then sobered completely as he remembered the hand in his trousers. He also became extremely aware of their surroundings, the people, the lights, the cheers and shrieks of laughter. "Isn't this, what we're doing, against club rules? Louis said something to that effect yesterday."  
  
Harry's fingers immediately unclenched around his cock and the arm around Zayn's waist slackened its hold. "D'you want to stop?"  
  
 _Fuck no_. "No... I just can't with all these people around. I feel exposed." Not true. Zayn was pretty sure he would be coming in a matter of seconds if Harry kept massaging him like this, people or no people. But he valued his privacy and didn't particularly fancy the idea of sex with an audience. "D' _you_ want to do this here?"  
  
"We could always go in Louis' office," Harry suggested after mulling it over a second or two. His thumb was gently kneading the side of Zayn's achingly hard cock, and it took about a fraction of a second for Zayn to make up his mind.  
  
"Yeah, alright. Let's go."  
  
Harry pressed a happy little kiss behind Zayn's ear and pulled his hand out of his trousers, so fast Zayn gasped at the acute feeling of loss, and then grabbed his hand instead, starting to pull Zayn after him through the crowd and into the shadows at the back of the club. Zayn followed bonelessly, using his other hand to bunch up his shirt over his crotch. Why he bothered, he didn't know. It was surely completely obvious to any on-looker what they were headed over to do.  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I've been busy with the Little Mix fandom and forgot all about you! 
> 
> This chapter is 100 % smut. And uh, I made an effort to cut down the size of my paras and I added spaces between them because someone told me on tumblr they found my chapters hard to read!

Harry had a key to Louis' office and a brief wave of paranoia overtook Zayn as he wondered whether Harry had in fact counted on all this happening. Harry seemed to catch on to his thoughts, however, since he immediately offered an explanation as they stepped inside. "I sort of work for Louis sometimes, make music mixes and such, so he gave me keys to the place."

 

Zayn nodded to acknowledge the explanation and shuffled further into the room while Harry fiddled with the light switches, looking for a suitably soft combination that left the room dimly lit. In the quiet darkness it suddenly became glaringly obvious exactly how loud it had been in the loft. Zayn could hear his heart thumping, or maybe it was just the after echo of the bass ringing in his ears. Maybe it was both. 

 

He meandered further into the room. There was no sofa or settee in Louis' office, which meant that if Zayn and Harry were to get horizontal, it was really a choice between the fuzzy carpet and the desk. The latter was certainly big enough to accommodate both of their bodies if necessary but the carpet might ultimately prove more comfortable. Zayn walked slowly through the length of it, his stiff dress shoes sinking pleasantly into it, and then closed in on the desk, drawn to its dominating presence at the back. It really was one ridiculously over-sized piece of furniture. Louis probably had a Napoleon complex of some sort. 

 

Zayn turned to face the front of the room again a comment ready on his lips but almost swallowed his tongue instead when he saw Harry clad only in a pair of white cotton pants. The cat suit had been discarded on the floor behind him and while Zayn couldn't say to be particularly sad about that - sexing up a man dressed as a cat hadn't exactly been on Zayn's bucket list - the sight of Harry's half-nude, all male form was a shock.

 

Harry sauntered towards him, seemingly perfectly comfortable judging by the relaxed swing of his arms at his sides. Zayn was a little awed by it and watched mutely as the other man advanced, the way his shoulders hunched slightly forward and how the muscles of his thighs jiggled, sinews knit tight together. Harry was far from the tallest or biggest of men but compared to Zayn's own bony frame he seemed positively bulky. Objectively speaking he would probably best have been described as lean, with tight, gym-perfected muscles filling out his long torso and legs. He was also very tan, borderline orange, as if he'd recently spent hours upon hours in the sun. Where Harry found sunlight in the middle of English December was a mystery to Zayn - maybe it was a fake tan, who knew, who cared. 

 

Definitely not Zayn because his eyes had already landed on what he realised was the outline of Harry's erection straining against the white cotton of his pants. It looked big and seemed to grow bigger as Harry got closer. He stopped a few feet away from the desk just as Zayn slumped down on it, impatiently fumbling his tie open. His suit was starting to feel unbearably stiff and warm.

 

"You look really good," Harry said, his head bent low as he gave Zayn furtive glances from under his brows, clearly hesitant to come any closer.

 

Blood rushed to Zayn's cheeks and he had to force himself to not avert his eyes to the ground. What was with this sudden pre-school awkwardness? Wasn't it already established that they were hot for each other? Harry even had his hand down Zayn's trousers only ten minutes ago!

 

It was so quiet, though, and just the two of them. Without the music and the people and without the softening effect of the cat suit Harry was so much more masculine. So much more _there_. And not in the least bit like the Harry from ten years ago, to the extent that Zayn could scarcely believe him as the same person at all. Although, the younger Harry _had_ had an equally appalling sense of fashion. Zayn could even recall one particular set of baby blue dungarees Harry had often sported on mufti days. 

 

Harry peered at him curiously. "What's funny?"

 

"Just having flashbacks of you in school."

 

Harry made a face and ruffled his hair with both hands. "Please try not to. I've done my best to wipe it all out of my memory. I was such an awkward turtle. Whereas you never were."

 

"I beg to differ. I was every bit as awkward as everyone else, if not more so." 

 

"No way. All the girls were always eying you up. I bet you had ladies queuing up to get frisky with you."

 

Well that was definitely not true. Zayn couldn't remember kissing one single girl in Harrogate and in fact any girl _outside_ Harrogate until he turned sixteen and managed to grow those crucial inches it took to take you from short loser to potential crush. And even then it had taken him a while to get his groove on. His first time, for example, had been an epic disaster.

 

Zayn still cringed when he thought about it. He'd been almost eighteen by then, old compared to most of his mates. The girl was called Adeela and she was a distant cousin of his by marriage and only visiting Bradford. She had also been very pretty and very forward about losing her virginity unlike Zayn, who was so nervous he'd been sure he'd pass out before even getting to the deed itself. Might have been better if he had in fact passed out, considering how badly things went. It had been a planned affair and Zayn'd prepared for the big moment all day, wanking in the toilet for a good dozen times so he wouldn't come too early and make a fool of himself. In the end he'd embarrassed himself even worse by not being able to come at all after all the feverish self-loving he'd got up to, and Adeela had eventually run out of the house crying, assuming he didn't find her fit enough. 

 

"Sorry, Harry, but you're wrong. I was a loser."

 

"No. You weren't. You were," Harry stepped forward, close enough to trail a hand down the length of Zayn's arm, "different. Unique." He was kneeling now, carefully folded his long legs underneath him. With bated breath Zayn waited, still but for his fingers feeling up the hard, polished wood of the desk. Harry was resting on his haunches, legs bent and thighs spread, his erection still poking against his underwear. Then he slid off Zayn's Oxfords and placed them carefully to the side.

 

"Why're you taking my shoes off?"

 

"So you won't kick at me with them, of course."

 

Zayn tensed. "Why would I kick at you?"

 

"No, that- that was a joke." Harry smiled feebly, toying with the hems of Zayn's trousers. "I just think it's more comfortable without clothes. I mean, isn't it? Although I do like suit porn, so. Whatever is fine with me."

 

Zayn wet his lips, anxiety flaring up in his gut like a dying fireplace with a new log thrown in. He had rather expected for them to continue along the lines of what they'd been doing in the loft, fondling and such, and he was not prepared to do anything that required bare cocks against bare- other parts. Just the thought of actually putting his hands, never mind his lips, on a cock, anyone's cock, made him queasy in the stomach, but then again... Had he really assumed Harry would feel so deeply honoured being allowed to put his hands on Zayn that he would be fine wanking _himself_ off? _Way to be full of yourself, Malik._

 

The whole 'doing over planning' approach had got him this far, but it was about time they sorted some things out before going any further. "Harry, what exactly are we going to do here? I don't know if it's obvious, but I've never done anything like this with a man, and I'm not really sure how far I'm willing to go with this." 

 

Harry rubbed his lips slowly together and rose back up on his feet. "I want to suck you off. And after- I don't know. If that's all you want, it's fine. I like giving head."

 

Wow, okay. Maybe Harry really _would_ be fine with just putting his hands on Zayn. Not that it mattered since Zayn would only feel end up feeling guilty and selfish if he didn't do something for Harry in return. Oh, well. They would cross that bridge when they got there. "Yeah, 'right."

 

"Alright?" Harry bent his back, keeping eye contact as he reached for the waistline of Zayn's trousers and nudged it down at the sides. "You should probably get up so you can, uh-"

 

"Oh, right." Zayn slid off the table and on his feet, hovering awkwardly as Harry didn't back off like he'd expected and intensely aware of the presence of the presumably still hard cock inches away from his midriff. His trousers had sunk to his knees with the weight of the belt buckle, and Zayn stared down after them, resisting the instinctive urge to pick them back up. Harry was so close they were sharing breathing space and somehow his body felt much bigger and downright imposing with Zayn facing it like this. Maybe it was just the novelty of it all making it seem that way. It didn't help that all Zayn's girlfriends and even most of his casual shags had been rather petite. What a strange time to realise he actually had a type. "I can't take my trousers off if you're standing this close, can I?" he said a little testily, eying the dip between Harry's prominent clavicles.

 

Instead of backing off Harry dropped back down on his haunches and began to undress Zayn, lifting his right foot, then his left as he pulled them out of the trousers. Cheeks heating up slightly, Zayn let him do it without protest, leaning against Harry's shoulder for support and cursing his too long dress shirt for making him feel even more like a child. Until Harry got to his underwear, anyway. Now he found himself grateful for the extra inches of the shirt, enough to leave his crotch area covered as Harry dug his fingers under the waist of his briefs and pulled them carefully down his thighs like he was detonating a bomb. 

 

"May I take this off too?" Harry's long fingers lingered at the cusps of the dress shirt as he gazed up at Zayn.

 

"I think I'm... I'm actually gonna keep it on. I get cold. Easily." And it was true, Zayn really was unusually sensitive to cold, but it was more about stupid little insecurities and the novelty of the situation at hand that made him unwilling to completely disrobe. Maybe at the back of his head there was even a vague notion of not having to run out of the room starkers if it came to that. .

 

"Alright, good. Looks nice anyway," Harry said a little belatedly, flashing a reassuring little smile. His voice had got even deeper than before, but despite his apparent eagerness there was still a kind of hesitance about his countenance. It occurred to Zayn that perhaps his anxiety was showing on his face, like he was still unsure about wanting to do this. He took a deep breath and steeled his facial muscles, summoning the spirit of the man he was currently impersonating. James Bond would not huddle here like a lost kitten, like sex was something alien and new that he needed to be introduced to with silk gloves.

 

"Harry, get up here." Zayn nudged him on the shin and Harry struggled up, getting tangled in his own feet in his hurry. Zayn took advantage of the momentum and grabbed his hips to steady him and press him closer. Harry pushed against him eagerly, holding Zayn's head between his massive hands as he swooped in for a sloppy, slightly erratic kiss. He was moaning unrestrainedly, greedily feeling up and down Zayn's shirt-covered back. It was making chills run up and down Zayn's spine and he tightened his grip on Harry's waist. He felt hot all over. Zayn slid his own hands down on Harry's arse cheeks to feel their shape through the cotton. They were smooth and compact with muscle and actually quite nice. He squeezed one and laughed when Harry squeaked in surprise.

 

His laughter was cut short when Harry pushed him against the desk so he was forced to sit on it and pushed himself between Zayn's slightly parted thighs to force them further apart. "Zayn, if you want to back down, say so now please," he panted almost feverishly, clutching the lapels of Zayn's shirt.

 

Impatiently, Zayn grabbed Harry's hair and then his neck, not wanting to talk anymore, only touch. "Shut up. I'll tell you if I don' like it," he mouthed into the skin of his cheek. Flames were licking along his torso and up his cheeks. He wanted Harry's lips and hands back on him.

 

Harry kissed him deeply once more and then started mouthing down his throat until he reached the top of Zayn's sternum. His hands crept up under the shirt and felt up his ribcage and then around his nipples. It felt nice and all but by now Zayn had regained his erection and really wanted the lips and hands there instead. He fitted his hand firmly behind Harry's neck and pressed down. The message seemed to go through since Harry obediently settled down on his knees again and lifted the shirt to pull Zayn's dick to his lips. The slurpy way he sucked it in his mouth was a little odd and not very sexy, but it quickly became obvious that he knew what he was doing and that the slurpy technique actually felt supremely good. 

 

The only problem was that he was going very slowly, like he had all the time in the world. Zayn soon started wiggling his bum on the desk in frustration, looking for support to counter Harry's torturous pace. He resolved to leaning as far backwards as he could, letting his hands support his weight. Deciding it wasn't enough he raised his right foot to rest on the edge of the table, immediately liking the way the sole of his foot against the hard wood gave him leverage to fuck into Harry's mouth. 

 

Harry's hands slid under Zayn's now more exposed arse cheeks, and then the other slipped between his thighs to carefully gather Zayn's balls in his palm, wrapping around them to then pull them away from his body. The feeling was so intense it almost hurt and Zayn reflexively pulled Harry's hair so hard it must have hurt to make him stop. 

 

"Sorry," Harry mumbled around his dick but he sounded like he was laughing and Zayn gave his temple a mean little slap. Now Harry was most definitely laughing, muffled and almost choking with his mouth full of cock, but his fingers around Zayn's balls were now careful, squeezing and relaxing the way Zayn did with his stress ball at work when students got on his nerves and his temper threatened to get the better of him. It wasn't a particularly sexy thought so Zayn banished it quickly before he got distracted. 

 

Harry abruptly let go of the balls and gripped Zayn's hips instead, his fingers long enough to wrap all around the angular frame of his jutting bones and press into the muscles of the lower back. His hold was tight and Zayn found he couldn't do much with his propped up leg anymore so he let it drop and tried to ease his upper body down on his elbows. His sweaty palms slipped on the hard surface, however, and he flopped disgracefully on the table on his back. The lacquered wood under him was completely smooth and he couldn't find anything to hold onto. Eventually he simply relaxed and gripped tufts of his own hair in his fists, easing both his legs to rest on Harry's shoulders and down his back. If Harry insisted on being in charge, fine. Zayn didn't mind letting him do all the work. 

 

The warm throbbing in his belly had grown into a full-body thrum, all his limbs slack and relaxed but simultaneously tense with a need for consummation. He wondered if Harry could feel the throbbing in his pelvis. He must have. He was still sucking the length of Zayn's dick up and down, up and down to a steady beat, hands sliding leisurely up and down Zayn's hips, kneading the muscles in his lower abdomen and at the sides of his hips. It was quite unlike any blowjob Zayn had ever experienced before and turning him into vibrating mush. Like he was lying on hot sand under a scorching sun, just above the water line, with warm waves engulfing his lower body one after another. He felt like he could let himself be sucked into the sea and come any moment if he just arched up a little and let go, but at the same time he just wanted to wallow in this forever.

 

Harry was bopping up and down much faster now, doing this thing where he swept it messily on the underside whenever he bottomed out. It felt incredible and Zayn was thoroughly impressed. He didn't know why he was surprised that Harry was so good at this. The man was in a rock band and quite good-looking. There had to have been countless of opportunities for practice. 

 

Zayn heaved himself into a sitting position, pressing both his hands firmly against the back of Harry's head. He'd had more than enough of fondling and sucking for the night if his thoughts were starting to wander. Harry peered up at him through his messy hair and seemed to read his body language correctly because the pressure on Zayn's cock kicked up a notch and he started sucking on it like his life depended on it.

 

Closing his eyes, acutely aware of Harry's intense stare on his face, Zayn started thrusting into Harry's mouth in tense little moves, thighs growing tight. Harry's fingers curled around Zayn's hip bones, pressing into his lower back, and Zayn let his spine arch a little under his touch, gasping loudly when he felt Harry take him in deeper and deeper. It got too good very quickly and he gladly let go, hoping that Harry had been meaning to swallow because he had no energy left to pull away. He came with a euphoric, full-body shudder.

 

Chest heaving, Zayn pulled out his now limp cock and braced his hands on the edge of desk to support his weight, fighting off the immediate wave of exhaustion threatening to take over. Time seemed to have stopped down while they'd been sealed away in the office, but now that it was flowing normally again he realised he was really tired. It must have been quite late; who even knew how long they'd been in the office, let alone The Office. "Right. So, that was great. Would you like-? I'll do whatever you like," he fumbled with his words, determined to reciprocate but mostly hoping a quick hand job would suffice. His head felt so heavy.

 

But Harry only smiled, easy and satisfied, and rested his jaw on Zayn's thigh, eyes twinkling. "No need. I came around the time you started pulling my hair."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate this fic, I'm never gonna finish it :(

This time Zayn did accept Harry's offer to drive him home, not that he really had a choice with the way Harry more or less walked him to the car park, hands big and heavy on his shoulders. Harry’s ride was a bright yellow vintage convertible that made Zayn think of the Beatles and the swinging sixties, with an overall interior of dark grey leather, wooden dashboard, and saloon rear seat.

 

"Isn't it? 1967 Triumph Herald. Found her on-line. The owner just wanted to get rid of her and sold her for 500 quid! She's a bit noisy but very reliable," Harry chatted as they steered out into the traffic, and petted the dash in that intimate, vaguely creepy, over-affectionate car owner way.

 

Zayn only managed a non-committal noise in reply, letting his head roll from side to the other as the car manoeuvred its way through the busy city centre until they joined the A660. He didn’t remember giving out his address to Harry, but clearly he must have since they were headed in the right direction.

 

Every muscle in Zayn’s body felt warm and mushy and a heavy fuzz had settled behind his eyes, threatening to pull him under. He wasn't falling asleep in Harry's car, though. Who knew where he might wake up if he did? Not that he necessarily distrusted Harry but he did feel a little out of control and susceptible to suggestions in his company. He couldn't quite decide if it was Harry himself or if it was just timing. Probably both. An impending quarter-life crisis catapulted into the air by a shaggy-haired musician who wore cat costumes and stalked Zayn in high school. By spring Zayn would probably be sat on a plane to Paris with nothing but a copy of Scenes of Bohemian Life and the artist's easel currently stuffed into the murky depths of his wardrobe as luggage.

 

The road outside was quiet; they were in a student-dominated part of town and since it was finals week the multitudinous pubs and bars of the area were near deserted even on a Saturday night. Zayn was only a passerby here these days even though once he'd thought he'd never lose his connection with university life and "the academia". Skim-reading the five yearly issues of _The Review of English Studies_ between endless hours of exam or essay marking was quite an accomplishment in his book now.

 

"I actually live quite near you, in Hyde Park? It's funny how close to each other we ended up," Harry picked up the conversation, eyes trained on the big lorry wobbling majestically some two hundred yards ahead. It must have made quite a racket on the road but thankfully not enough to penetrate the convertible.

 

Zayn locked eyes with the tiny, stern-faced bobblehead sumo wrestler sat on the dashboard, willing himself to think nothing at all while not falling asleep. "Yeah, I lived there when I was a student. 'Bit rowdy for me nowadays."

 

"Yeah, yeah, I know what you mean, like- Oh, I should turn left at the traffic lights, right?" The car swerved abruptly. "Oops. Erm. Here we go... Right. As I was saying, it's definitely a bit rowdy, but it's just so convenient, you can walk to most places. Like the Picture House. I used to go there all the time. Have you been since uni days? We should go one day. And, like, all the pubs and restaurants? Some of the very best in the country, right around the corner. I love it."

 

Harry rambled on about all the various benefits of living in Hyde Park, but Zayn quickly lost the track and meaning of his words in his rapidly worsening state of lethargy. The bobble-head sumo wrestler wasn't helping much - it seemed to be nodding slower every second and every time its chin went down so did Zayn's eyelids, one millimetre at a time. He tried focusing on the low timbre of Harry's voice instead and watched his long, gangly fingers on the steering wheel. Those hands were all over me not fifteen minutes ago, he thought, mildly shocked at how smoothly it had all gone in the end. He'd never entertained any serious thoughts about men in a sexual way before... Was he less straight than he thought? How gay exactly was it to get your cock sucked by another man? _Had Harry put a spell on him?  
_

 

"Zayn." A hand shook his shoulder. 

 

"Wha- Sorry."

 

“We’re here.”

 

Zayn pushed himself up in his seat, laboriously, genuinely worried he might have to ask Harry to carry him inside. When he pushed the passenger door open he nearly toppled on the street on his face. Thankfully, a lungful of cool night air was enough to snap him out of his stupor and propel him back on his feet, however, and he heaved against the side of the car with a deep sigh, racking his brain for suitable parting words. He went with, "Thank you, for the ride and... tonight. I had a great time."

 

Maybe a little formal considering what the night had consisted of but Harry didn't seem to mind. "I had, too," he said warmly from where he'd got out on the other side on the car. "Would it, uh, be too much to ask for a goodnight kiss?" 

 

Zayn wetted his lips reflexively, caught off guard, but shrugged acquiescence. It was just a kiss. "Nah, it's cool, c'mere." 

 

Harry didn't need to be told twice. He strode around the front of the car with his long legs, the furry tail of his costume flapping wildly behind him, and came to a halt in front of Zayn. His cheeks were very red in the crisp air and his eyes very bright and when he slowly leaned in Zayn realised, much too late, that this could in fact not be very harmless at all. Harry wrapped a hand around the nape of his neck, warm and solid, and gently pulled him closer. The height difference between them was just enough for Zayn to be have to angle his head up to maintain eye contact and when he swallowed his throat contracted almost comically, like he was trying to down a golf ball. Blood was rushing to where Harry's hand was on his neck, to his lips and down his neck until he was hot all over. And yet Harry made no move to actually kiss him, only regarded him with sober, limpid green eyes.  _What is he waiting for?_

 

"Zayn?"

 

"Ye-" 

 

Harry swooped in and gathered Zayn's still open lips against his own, smooth as a snake. And it was embarrassing but Zayn's knees actually buckled for a fraction of a second. He fisted Harry's furry suit around the waist with both hands to mask it, and Harry made a pleased noise deep in his throat. He backed Zayn's unresisting body against the side of the car to free his hands and they all but melted into each other. Zayn honestly couldn't get enough - there was just something about the way Harry held him and matched his rhythm that was going straight to his heart and gut. It was electrifying. Just when he thought he was going slightly delirious Harry abruptly released him and stepped back, flushed and grinning like a school boy.

 

Zayn gaped at him with his mouth still open, feeling his surroundings. _Fuck fuck fuck_ , echoed in his head. His heart was pounding like it did when he'd had too much caffeine, rapid and anxious like a captured bird. He pushed himself off the car and tugged his hands under his arms to hide how affected he was. "Listen, I must be- must be getting in. I'm about to fall asleep where I’m stood and I've got a pile of papers to mark tomorrow besides. Better get a good night’s sleep in," he rattled off mindlessly, the drowsiness momentarily subdued as adrenaline took over. He could've run a marathon on the nervous energy coiled in his gut.

 

Harry shifted weight from one foot to another, flailing a little when he stepped on his own toes. He leaned on the car roof for support and started fiddling with the rubber lining of the car door, feeling it carefully back and forth with the tips of his fingers as if the fate of the world was inscribed along it in Braille. "Papers?" he finally questioned. He was staring back and forth between Zayn's lips and eyes. 

 

"GCSE mocks, of all things. Very stressful, for just about everyone involved," Zayn said, impressed at his ability to put together a coherent sentence. He hadn't felt like this in the club, not even when Harry was standing in front of him in nothing but his pants. This was a different kind of trepidation, charged with emotion rather nerves. “I’m going in now, for real.” Why he hadn't already was beyond him.

 

Harry nodded slowly. He made no move to get in the car, however, and kept ogling with that by now familiar face of intense concentration like Zayn might reveal the secrets of the universe if he was only stared at hard enough. 

 

"Give me now leave to leave thee?" Zayn tried to laugh easy-goingly but it ended up sounding shrill. Could Harry just stop _staring_ at him? 

 

Harry blinked owlishly. "Sorry?"

 

"Never min- It's just that you look like you're waiting for something?" 

 

"No, I'm just-" Harry carded his hand through his hair and just like that transformed from lovestruck suitor to suave rock star. He stood up straight, stopped fidgeting and smiled in that charming, self-deprecating way of his. "Sorry. My head is swimming in the clouds. Can I, uh, ring you? Not tomorrow, but next week sometime. Or maybe texting is better. I don't think our schedules match."

 

"Oh, um. Yeah? I mean, why not. Sure. Should I- should I give you my number, then?" Zayn patted around the midriff of his jacket, not quite positive if he'd taken his phone with him at all.

 

"No, it's fine, I'll ask Louis. You just... get inside. I've kept you up long enough. Have great dreams and all." 

 

"Thanks, I will. You too." Zayn flashed one more awkward smile and turned on his heel to start strutting towards his building with purpose, not looking back once. It must have dropped down to below ten degrees Celsius judging by the way his breath was foaming in the air but his inside his body there was a furnace. There were no sounds of a car leaving until he stepped through the double doors the main entrance and he turned quickly for a glimpse of retreating rear lights through the glass pane of the door. He pressed his forehead on it for a long moment after, limbs slowly turning back to lead while his head remained a madhouse.  

 

~

 

Sunday was uneventful. Louis sent a series of cheeky texts ("Is that a print of your arse on my desk, Malik, I demand you pay for a full disinfection!"), Aleem rang to chat about all the fit Spanish girls he'd met so far, and Zayn himself powered through a respectable stack of exams even with his concentration severely lacking.  _You shouldn't have kissed him_ , his inner voice of reason reprimanded him in the disappointed tones of his mother every time he took a bathroom break and saw his pale, slightly hungover face in the mirror. _What does it matter if I kissed him after everything we got up to at the club?_ he argued back defiantly. It was just a kiss. He'd been drunk. Harry was a good kisser.  _It doesn't mean anything._ Then he went back to work and shut out everything else for another hour.

 

~

 

Monday morning arrived grey and chilly, the day's weather forecast going as far as not overruling the possibility of snowfalls. Zayn usually got into work for about 7.15. His closest colleague Jade and him shared a ride to work on her badgered old Volvo and ate breakfast together at their adjoining desks – usually just a mug of tea and some biscuits – before starting their respective preparations for the day. Form time started at 8.15 and before that Zayn liked to flip through all his notes for his classes of the day, photocopy resources he'd (typically) forgotten the evening before, read his email, and re-acquaint himself with the day’s running errands.

 

This particular Monday, however, had the dubious honour of starting the second to last week of school and since both Zayn and Jade were heavily involved in about all the various Christmas activities not only with his tutor group but with the school choir  _and_ the drama club, there was more than one extra side dish on their already full plates. Which would be why they'd headed off to work an hour early.

 

In the car they barely spoke a word to each other, content humming along to whatever was on the radio and listening to BBC1's breakfast show hosts joking around. They both had a tendency to get worked up about things when it got busy and it was an unsaid mutual agreement between them to not obsess over it between just the two of them since they would only fuel shared concerns and propel each other into a full strop about it. Sister from another mister, was how Zayn often introduced Jade; the two of them had more in common than Zayn did with some of his actual sisters.

 

At the school they marched straight into the already half-full teachers' lounge, exchanging greetings with equally grim-faced staff and colleagues and crowding in front of the tea station with their mugs like it was war time and commodities were scarce. An hour and a half of rushing about later, at 8.15 sharp, Zayn finally opened the door to the classroom his form usually met up in, officially  but found himself blocked from entering. Angelica Obayomi was stood right in front of the door, arms behind her, eyeing him demurely under her mascara-coated lashes. "Good morning, sir," she purred in her unusually husky voice.

 

"Morning, Angelica. Is everything alright?"

 

"Yes," she said cheerfully, swaying a little in her spot so that her multitude of tiny braids swung merrily around her. Then her eyes flickered upwards and Zayn followed their direction. There was a mistletoe branch taped right above the door frame. Angelica puckered her lips at him, like there was no one else in the room and it was perfectly reasonable to expect him to take her offer right then and there. Zayn reached up, ripped the branch off, and handed it to her with a reproachful look above the rim of his glasses. 

 

"You seem to have misplaced something.”

 

Angelica flicked her hair and took the branch daintily, letting the tips of her fingers brush against the side of Zayn's palm. "I'm sorry, sir. I just thought we could use some more Christmas decoration in the class."

 

"I'll check with the headteacher and perhaps we can put one in the cafeteria at a visible spot so no one will be... ambushed. In the meanwhile, please sit down, Angelica. We have quite a few things to go through before classes this morning." 

 

Angelica sashayed back to her seat with a little pout and crossed her legs, ignoring the good-natured cat calls and comments from the rest of the class. "Jesus, you're such a slag, Angie," hollered Timothy Blackton, a freckle-faced boy with a big mouth and no filter.

 

"No derogatory language in the class," Zayn called out reflexively and placed his suitcase on the table to rummage through it for his calendar. "And good morning to everyone else as well. We only have fifteen minutes, let's make sure everyone knows what the week's schedule is, yeah?" He smiled affectionately when a chorus of sleepy pupils answered with mumbled variations of 'yeah yeah'. 

 

Zayn had lucked out with his tutor group. He sincerely adored every single one of his 17 pupils and he was quite confident that they returned the feeling. They had even without any prompting from Zayn named themselves House Malik and made everyone badges with the words inscribed on it in a fancy old font. It had made him chuffed beyond words and at lunch that day he had against his habits popped in the nearby Sainsbury's for huge jars of Black Jacks and Fruit Salads that they'd stuffed themselves silly with in the afternoon.

 

Being a young, attractive teacher had its drawbacks, of course. Not with the boys so much; they tended to be a little suspicious of him at first, but usually warmed to him quickly once they realised he had no intention of treating them any differently than female students. The girls on the other hand were a whole lot trickier and Zayn constantly found himself toeing the line with them. Some got very shy with him – to the extent that they had trouble looking at him in the eyes - whereas others were the very opposite of shy. They were the ones sitting in front row with their skirts rolled up to their pants or the ones who mysteriously always needed personal assistance despite pulling straight A's in exams. Zayn did his absolute best to stay professional and not encourage any inappropriate behaviour but there was always a pupil or two who liked to see exactly how much they could get away with.

 

Currently, there was one pupil in particular that was making him watch his every step. A year 11 student, Angelica had transferred into his form group at the end of last semester. She was a late bloomer who had turned from a shy, skinny beanpole into a (quite frankly, distractingly) busty young woman, who knew exactly what to do with her new curves. Zayn had taught her English before, but she had never made any particular impression on him until this year when she had rather aggressively asserted herself into his sphere of attention. Jade, her previous form tutor, had been quick to share with him her worries about the girl’s growing reputation in and outside of school as provocative and chatty with men much too old for her. She was a smart girl and easily came off as mature beyond her sixteen years of age, which was a problem on multiple levels. For one, she didn't take well to being treated like a minor. While the rest of the class dutifully studied their printed copies of the week's events, she concentrated on fixing her lipstick and making squishy faces at her pocket mirror and at Zayn, whenever he looked her way. 

 

"Right, now that everyone's on the clear with this, looks like we have about... seven minutes time left. Just enough for a little quiz-" A barrage of protests interrupted Zayn and he raised his hands defensively. "A _light-hearted_ quiz about the various pop culture phenomena that has taken place this year. There will be prizes, okay? Good prizes." He handed out question sheets to the class and once they'd all immersed themselves them in it sank into his chair to flip through his calendar one more time. He lost himself in it for a moment, flicking not only through the pages but select scenes and words from Saturday, mostly the kiss of course. Weird how long ago it seemed already...

 

A faint buzzing interrupted Zayn's thoughts and he dug out his phone to check who the message was from behind the safety of the teacher's desk. His eyebrows shot up when he saw it was from Harry.

 

_Heeey, how is my favourite teacher? pupils drooling all over you this fine morning?_

 

Zayn bit his lip to keep a giddy smile from forming on his face, caught off guard by how happy he was to hear from Harry. He stole a quick glance around the classroom and sank lower in the chair, tapping his fingers nervously on the desk as he tried to come up with a suitable reply. _Awfully early for a rock star to be up_ , he finally typed, deciding to ignore the eerily timed quip about his pupils. You could never be too careful.

 

 _I spent all night thinking about your cock in my mouth and couldnt sleep_ , came back almost immediately and then another one right afterwards while Zayn was still stupidly ogling at the first one, _I bet you look hot as fuck in your teacher glasses_. Instinctively, Zayn lifted his head to look at the large windows lining the left side of the classroom even though they were on the first floor.

 

 _How do you know I wear glasses at work?_ he sent out quickly and then promptly almost jumped out of his skin when Angelica’s honeyed voice piped up, startlingly loud, “Who are you texting, sir?”

 

“Not so loud, Angelica,” he managed to stammer and hurriedly stuffed his cell into one of the pockets of his suitcase. He was painfully aware of the deep flush spreading on his cheeks and neck, and hid his face behind the computer screen. They were all staring at him now, eager round adolescent eyes, suddenly reminded of the fact that their teacher was a human being with feelings, secrets and a life beyond their English classes. "Is everyone done with the quiz?" Zayn said to the screen, forcing authority into his voice. "Let's gather them up, then, and head to classes, eh?"

 

The next time Zayn had time to look at his phone was at lunch and by then four more texts from Harry had appeared. The first was a response to his earlier question ( _Louis mentioned you wore preppy hipster glasses when he ran into you_ ), and the rest a tragic tale of impatience and regret in three acts. It went from _Zaaaayn why arent you answering me?_ to _Im sorry I was too forward earlier_ and then to _Shit you must be working. Ignore me, Im an idiot_. Shaking his head, Zayn sent him a winking smiley and a promise to talk later. At the choir and drama club rehearsals that swallowed most of his afternoon that day he walked with a light tripping step and an uncharacteristically cheerful grin on his face.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this fic is still alive. I think I might actually finish it.

For the rest of week Zayn was here there and anywhere, one moment in the music room for rehearsals, another shepherding the non-Christian students of the school not participating in the Carol Services, yet another proof-reading half-term reports and helping Leigh-Anne, Head of Performing Arts, finish up the Autumn Term newsletter booklet. "Never apply for a Head, Zayn. You know you've been shortlisted for taking over English and History next year, right? Don't do it. The extra 10k a year ain't worth it," Leigh-Anne ranted in between cusses, her dark hair an angry halo of electrified strays from the way she hunched into the computer screen. She was one of the coolest, most laid-back people Zayn knew but even her spirits were running low at the final stretch.

 

Harry texted him throughout the days, short meaningless things or anecdotes about the various funny and/or awkward situations he landed into on a seemingly hourly basis. He appeared to have picked up on Zayn's conflicted stance on their relationship and the only explicitly flirty messages out of the hundreds he'd sent were guesses on what Zayn was currently wearing, the type and colour of his underwear included. They had tentatively agreed to meet at least once before Harry left for Holmes Chapel on Sunday. The Red Robinsons had a gig on Friday, which Harry had alluded to enough many times for Zayn to more than take the hint but he was playing coy as of yet. Some portentous little voice sat snugly on his shoulder told him only bad things could come out of seeing Harry perform.

 

_There's always the market on millennium square - last day on sat_ , Harry finally texted on Thursday morning when even his more straightforward invites fell on seemingly deaf ears the night before. Zayn stared at the words with a guilty frown, halting in his steps in the hallway as he tried to think of an answer before reaching his tutor group classroom. The class had an hour reserved for Christmas celebrations and he didn't his mood soured by worrying about Harry's reactions while with his favourite student for the last time this year. He stopped right before the door and typed quickly, lips pressed tightly together: _Yeah cool but listen, I want to see the gig too, at 6 right?_ And... send.

 

A raucous cheer accompanied by touting of toy trumpets greeted Zayn when he stepped into the class and somebody even threw a handful of glitter in the air. Some of the students were wearing elf hats and paper crowns, there were Christmas cracker wrappers everywhere, and the teacher's desk was buried under a mountain of cellophane-covered candles, chocolate, gift cards, tea, books, flower pots, and various Christmas ornaments. One student - or their parents - had even brought him what looked like a very expensive tie. He hoped it wasn't from Angelica.

 

"I see you've exceeded yourselves this year," Zayn tutted with hands on his hips, already fighting back a lump in his throat looking at their bright faces and enthusiasm.

 

"Teacher's gonna cry!" Timothy yelled in glee and everyone cheered again while Zayn did his best to shush them and made room on the desk so he could sit on it.

 

"Alright, alright, children, what should we do first?"

 

***

 

"They all hate me."

 

Zayn swiveled lazily around in the massage chair someone had insisted on spending school budget on to face Jade, stood prim and agitated in her neat blouse and skirt by a thick pile of paper she'd just slammed on the teachers' lounge coffee table so hard the mugs on it rattled. It was an hour past noon and the room was mostly deserted. "One of them - that prissy little thing with the surgeon parents - even said she's going to make an official complaint. I told her to bugger off then if my teaching isn't to her pleasing. Well, in my head anyway." She pulled out a chair and reached for the box of home-made custard cremes, ignoring the little sign requesting 50p per biscuit.

 

"Told you not to do it," Zayn drawled, heavy with tea, creme eggs and turkish delights from his new favourite student.

 

"School isn't over yet!" Jade snapped. "They'll be taking their A-levels in five months, it's not unreasonable to expect them to put in a little effort before two weeks of slacking about and forgetting most of what they've learned."

 

"I had all my classes do Power Point presentations or watch films relevant to the subject."

 

"The likes of you are the ones that allow my students to complain no one else makes them work before Christmas so I shouldn't either," Jade all but spat out, but her fury deflated into slumped shoulders when she saw Zayn's face. "Sorry. I'm just so stressed out about bloody everything. Half my classes have been under performing all year long, parents are breathing down my neck because I'm pushing their little babies too hard, and my latest ob was rated as 'adequate' because apparently my voice is too small and I rely too much on the same students to keep class discussion going. I'd like to see them try and make those empty-headed twits-" She pressed two delicate fingers on her temple, visibly reigning herself in.

 

Zayn leaned out of his slump and into her space. "Are you, like, alright?"

 

"Yeah, it's just that I've been bombarded on all fronts this autumn. School and... We're breaking up, me and Sam." She shook her head and took another biscuit. "We're spending the Christmas together, you know, for our parents' sake. Pretending everything's fine. Sam's like a son to them, me mum and dad."

 

"I didn't know it was so bad, with you and Sam." Jade had been with Sam as long as Zayn had known her and while he was aware there were problems he hadn't expected them to actually part ways.

 

"Yeah, I haven't really kept you up to date. Let's not get into it now. One more day and then I can afford to unravel." She checked her watch. "Ugh, I have to be in the drama class in fifteen. That sixth former doing Santa still can't remember his lines. How the hell are you so idle?"

 

"I'm more or less finished with everything. Also, looks like I lost my phone. As far as I'm concerned, no one's trying to reach me." He flashed Jade a bright grin and accepted the petulant swat aimed at his forehead.

 

"Unfair. If you're idle tomorrow as well, how about drinks, on me?"

 

"Oh, uh. I kind of have somewhere to be. A concert."

 

Jade studied his face with piqued interest. "With someone?"

 

"No, it's- well, he's performing, actually. His band. I promised to go- see them. Perform." Oh god.

 

"Who is 'he'?"

 

"Just someone I went to school with. Ran into him the other day."

 

"Go on. Give me names. Are they big?"

 

"I guess a little. The Red Robinsons? Harry's the-"

 

"You went to school with Harry Styles?" Jade interrupted. "Oh wow."

 

"You know them."

 

She gave him a look. "They're supposed the next big thing. What's he like?"

 

"Erm-" Charming. Attentive. Sexy. Endearing. "Really nice. Y'know, charismatic."

 

"Can you introduce me? Might be cool to get an autograph before he blows up."

 

"Sure, but not tomorrow. We're maybe gonna do something afterwards."

 

"What, is it a date?" Jade's laughter died when Zayn evaded her eyes. She leaned in with owlish eyes. "Oh my god, is it?"

 

Zayn rubbed his lips together, stalling. "I'm not sure," he mumbled, eyes on the table. "Probably, yeah."

 

"Wh- I didn't know you liked guys, too."

 

"I don't. It's really weird. It happened so fast, I've- 'm not sure what's going on yet. We kind of hooked up on Saturday and we've been texting-" Zayn drew in a breath and looked up to face Jade, who was eyeing him like he was spitting out frogs. "Um, I really like him."

 

"Yeah? Well. I'm a bit speechless, to be honest. And-" The school bell's sudden ringing made her groan. "And about to be late. Not that we're getting anything done anyway." She started gathering her things while she spoke. "Listen, I wanna hear all 'bout it, okay? Let's do something on Saturday. Or Sunday, whatever. I need to give you your present anyway."

 

"Okay." Zayn accepted the quick hug she bestowed on him and watched her strut out of the teachers' lounge, still shaking her head in disbelief.

 

Zayn finished his tea, dug out a tenner for the biscuits Jade had so shamelessly munched, and started looking out for a cardboard box for his gifts. He felt quite at peace with Jade knowing about Harry and him, surprisingly. It was a relief putting the two of them into words, giving them context: until now it had all seemed rather like an odd, week-long daydream, separate from the rest of his day-to-day life.

 

His good mood only heightened when he went back to the class room and found his phone waiting for him, right there in the empty spot on the desk where he'd somehow missed it earlier. He scrolled the message box with bated breath until he found one from Harry. _Great, I'm gonna dazzle you ;D_

 

"I'm sure you will," he muttered under his breath but couldn't help but smile.

 

***

 

Friday's final assembly was divided into a formal section with speeches and awarding of prizes and a more casual hour and a half showcasing student talent. Year 11 GCSE Music ensembles tackled recent and not-so-recent hits from Imagine Dragons, Christina Aguilera, and Bruno Mars in complex, 3-part harmonies; year 6 did an original play revolving around Santa Claus's missing boots (no, Santa did not remember his lines, which made him an instant crowd favourite); and the choir was in charge of traditional Christmas songs. Zayn, who'd had a hefty hand in each of the productions, was pleased to see them go mostly without a hitch and didn't even mind being made to participate in the silly surprise number in which teachers were made to dance to latest radio hits.

 

After final hugs and goodbyes, Jade and Zayn got in her car for their final shared ride home for the year, singing carols at the top of their lungs once Jade was done making ridiculous faces at Zayn's recount of all he'd been up to with Harry so far from the blind kiss to the one against the car. At the apartment, Zayn threw off his work clothes, trimmed his beard, and hopped into the shower, trying to wash his budding nervousness off his skin, unsuccessfully. He dressed in ragged dark jeans and a sleeveless black tee with a snake on it, rubbed cologne on his palms and the palms on his neck in brisk, meticulous moves. Artfully messy hair, three silver rings and a dog tag necklace, red Doc Martens, waist-length sheepskin coat and.... he still had almost two hours until he had to leave.

 

Fully dressed, Zayn sat in the middle of his settee and switched the telly on, drumming his fingers on the bare skin of his knees through the holes in his jeans. The Jeremy Kyle Show was on and for about an hour his mind drifted back and forth between and a man who'd managed to get four women simultaneously pregnant. Finally having had enough, he rang a taxi and headed towards city centre.

 

***

 

The Dead Man was a popular brewpub in the picturesque waterside setting of Granary Wharf, beneath the city railway station. Zayn had never been inside before and was quite taken with its quirky, old-timey decor: exposed brickwork, vaulted ceilings and wood furniture. It was set over two levels, the upper floor a smaller, L-shaped structure over the floor with the shorter side reserved for performers. Zayn ordered a standard craft beer at the bar and climbed the stairs, happy to realise he'd arrived early enough to have his pick of seats. He chose one at a table right next to the banister, with a view both down on the floor and the stage. In fact, he was startlingly close as became apparent when a roadie showed up for some final tweaks on the equipment.

 

Zayn had done his homework and dug up The Red Robinsons' Youtube channel to acquaint himself with some tracks. To his relief they were decent and Harry's voice and presence in particular more than merited genuine compliments. The comment section under the videos are full of girls professing their love for Harry's curls and sexy voice and disgruntled males there "just for the music". Zayn wondered what would have happened had he written "Harry sucked my cock on Saturday". Not that he would have been the only one sharing groupie stories. It had been quite odd, reading thirsty messages from people who'd have apparently given their right arm to fuck Harry when Zayn himself was so apprehensive about it.

 

Suddenly a body plopped down on the seat next to Zayn's, too close for comfort, and a small hand curled around his wrist. It took a moment for him to recognize the willowy woman as his student out of the school uniform, lips dark and eyes heavily done. " _Angelica?_ "

 

"Hey there, Mr Malik. Fancy meeting you here."

 

"Wh- This is an 18+ gig."

 

"I know. They never check hot girls' IDs, I've been here lots of times," the girl shrugged, unconcerned.

 

"Angelica, as your teacher I can't just-"

 

"Oh, c'mon, who cares, school's over for the year. You're technically not my teacher right now."

 

Zayn was alarmed to feel her knee pressing into his thigh and hurried to move his chair back. "It doesn't quite work quite like that. Angelica, I'm going to have to ring your parents-"

 

"Shush." She pressed a finger on his lips, giggling at his horrified expression. "Don't look so scared. No one knows you're my teacher here. If you want, it can be just a one-night thing. I'm not a virgin, you know. I know what I'm doing. I'm sick of my guys my age. And I think you'll find that I can more than keep up with you."

 

Zayn heaved a deep sigh, getting over his shock at the sight of her, and grabbed both her wrists to put on his 'dad voice'. "You really need to go. If you do that right now, I won't ring your parents. Otherwise you're not leaving me a choice here. I don't care if you do this regularly, in fact I should probably talk to the doorman about that, you're not staying."

 

Angelica searched his face and her lower lip wobbled when she didn't find what she was looking for. Without a word, she yanked her wrists free, grabbed her purse, and stalked towards the stairs with her long, bare legs, in a skirt so short it made Zayn wince. Would she really go home? Shouldn't Zayn go and make sure of it? He looked around. The place was almost full and he really didn't want to miss Harry's gig. Fuck, please don't get murdered, he prayed silently and settled back into his seat. She was a smart girl, she knew her way around the city. How the hell had she managed to end up here of all places? Shifting restlessly, he felt a weight in his pocket and froze, feeling like an idiot. The missing phone that had so conveniently re-appeared. She must read at least part of his messages with Harry. Thank god none of the recent ones had been explicit, and she presumably hadn't gone far enough to see the one that had been, else she presumable wouldn't have hit on him.

 

The lights in the pub dimmed and a blond young man with a guitar hopped up on the stage to speak into the microphone in a strangely familiar voice. "Hello, friends! The time has come for your and my favourite band to take the stage. But before that, let me warm you up a little, and educate you English heathens while at it, by singing _Amhrán na bhFiann_ , also known as _The Soldier's Song_ , the Irish national anthem." He cleared his throat and began to sing, at the top of his voice, " _Sinne Fianna Fáil, Atá Fá gheall ag Éirinn...!_ "

 

While he sang and the audience laughed and booed, three long-haired men in tight jeans trailed onto the stage behind him and settled at their respective instruments, the bass, guitar and drums. Harry himself only appeared once the Irishman was done with his bellowing, slinging an arm around him. "Please give my best friend, future superstar and Irish fiend Niall Horan, a warm applause!"

 

Almost everyone did and Niall, whom Zayn now understood as the announcer at the Office, bowed grandiosely before being playfully shoved off the stage by Harry. He looked good in his leopard-print rivet shirt and tightest of jeans (did he wear any other kind?), hair flowing soft and free of product. He immediately sought out Zayn, sending a wink in his direction as if he'd known where to look. Maybe he'd asked for someone to find out for him. The thought of it ignited the embers left simmering in his chest in the early hours of Sunday and he pursed his lips into the shape of a kiss the next time Harry looked his way. It was quite fun being on this side for once, watching the other man duck down shyly.

 

"So. First song, yeah? Let's do _Wisdom Makes Me Horny_."

 

The drummer tapped out a quick beat and they were off into a high-energy, vaguely rockabilly-influenced song that had people bouncing and singing along from the get-go. The band was decent, backed up by great acoustics, but it was their front man that really shone and drew all the attention to himself.

 

Singing, Harry grew in dimensions. It was a small stage, but he worked it effortlessly to its full capacity and beyond, prancing about, throwing his body back to strum an air guitar, miraculously not hitting himself in equipment or fellow band members, lurching dangerously over the railing to single out people below mid-lyrics. Every time he raised his arms his ridiculously short t shirt rode up to reveal an increasingly sweaty torso and the further into the set list they got, the raunchier a turn his moves turned. Sweat glistened on the sides of his face and glued his hair against the scalp, and his naturally husky voice filled the room with ease over the bass and guitar. Even a song about strawberries and an iguana dripped with sex as the crowd worked itself in to a frenzy. It was at this point that Zayn his lost view of the stage since a girl next to him pulled him on his feet. He worried it was Angelica for a moment but relaxed seeing a stranger. They danced and jumped for a few more wild songs segued into each other until there was a slight pause and Harry started speaking, out of breath.

 

"Thank you all for coming." Cheering. "This is by far my favourite gig ever." Disbelieving whistles and heckling. "It is! I wouldn't just say that to you guys, would I?" Harry chuckled. "Anyway. This is the second to last song, and you know what it is." Hands shot up all over the audience. "That's right. It goes by _Your Name_ and tonight it will be one of you. I'm thinking of doing a boy tonight..."

 

Girls booed and Harry wagged his finger, his eyes scanning faces until they flickered up on the top floor and met Zayn. "You, fine sir in the snake shirt, what's your name?"

 

Zayn bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to smile. "Pablo," he called out innocently.

 

Harry blinked in surprise and shook his head, amused. "I have a feeling you're not telling me the truth here, mister. What d'you think, people? Let's hear the real name, eh?"

 

At Harry's insistence the crowd started chanting "name! name! name!" and Zayn made a great show of giving in, raising his hands above his head in surrender until the audience rustled into silence. "Fine, alright! Zayn, it's Zayn."

 

Harry smiled smugly, gave his guitarist a sign, and they launched into an acoustic ballad about a boy named Zayn who gets kidnapped by Zeus, leaving behind the speaker of the song who misses his "ruby lips and dirty hips". He sang it all directly at Zayn, nailed him with slow, molten looks and devious brushes of lips against the microphone. At the end of it, when everyone else clapped and cheered, Zayn sat down on one of the deserted chairs and let the last song wash over him while he dug out his phone and sent Harry a text. _Come out as soon as you can._ Then he got up and pushed himself through the crowd and down the stairs.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Zayn burst into the street like a hot coal glowing red, feeling like he must have lit up the entire dark grimy street with his entrance, but none of the few people on their phones or huddled over their cigarettes paid him any mind. He sagged against the arch pillar that split the facade of the pub in two, chest heaving like his lungs had suddenly shrunk in size and could only hold a single gasp's worth of air at once. The more he tried to even out his breathing the more furiously his heart pumped, a veritable furor of gushing blood in his ears. It was cold and he was steaming in the chill of night air, exuding wafts of vaporized sweat and endorphins, like a racehorse after a winning run. Giving himself over to it, he let it wrap him up tighter and tighter, until he was delirious with it. Wallowed in the sensation of his heart working up to its maximum capacity, churning out blood so feverishly there was almost something alarming about its brute machine-like effort. Had it been like this before, with Kayla, at Danny's wedding when their eyes met across the room and never left each other for the next four and a half years? He couldn't even remember what her face looked like at the moment.

 

Feeling vaguely like a character in a Gaskell novel, he closed his eyes until he couldn't see more than a thin sliver of the world around him. The train station arches spread behind him and in the periphery of his vision, sturdy and Gothic; down in the darkness the icy waters of River Aire flowed fast and furious, a tireless surge through the canal; and further ahead, on the other side tall square buildings of red brick rose side by side, modern designs imitating the old industrial past.

 

After an eternity the battered steel back door opened and Harry emerged, concerned and disheveled in a tatty toffee-coloured duffle coat that made him look like Paddington Bear, combing his damp hair back along the scalp until he spotted Zayn. "Sorry, had to wash up a little first." There was buoyancy in his step, a post-show high evident in his wide eyes and red cheeks.

 

Zayn couldn't stop staring, eager to marvel at Harry's face, his wide brow, keen eyes, pale malleable features that lent themselves easily both to broody mournfullness and unbridled joy. He hadn't allowed himself a sufficient look before, afraid to commit them to memory, to commit to whatever path knowing Harry would take him.

 

He sidled close and gripped him by the lapels of his coat, pulling him in, commanding his attention. Willing all that energy to channel into Zayn and merge with his passion. Harry curled around him, instinctively, his arms careful around Zayn's back, barely touching even though it had been a week and half his texts had been about how much he missed Zayn. "I feel like I haven't seen you in ages," he whispered, on cue.

 

"Yeah?"

 

"Yeah. Did you like the gig?"

 

"Mmhm. The vocalist was fucking fit."

 

A luminous grin spread on Harry's face and his arms tightened around Zayn, their faces almost touching. Despite his eyes flickering to Zayn's lips he didn't go for a kiss, instead withdrawing to close the open front of Zayn's jacket. "D'you want to go inside? You must be cold."

 

Zayn shook his head and cupped Harry's face with sure fingers, angled it right. "No, I'm perfect," he hushed. Harry shuddered when Zayn fitted their faces together, careful and chaste like the heros of an Austen film. The absurdity of the comparison made Zayn laugh and he mushed their faces together, ran his tongue around the inside of Harry's lips until Harry all but mewled, gripping the back of Zayn's coat so hard he was probably leaving marks on it. The miniature furnace that had replaced Zayn's heart roared happily and he clambered blindly on top of Harry's boots to match his height. They didn't break apart until a drunken group rolled into the street and filled the air with noise.

 

"We should probably go somewhere more private," Harry panted, putting Zayn carefully back down on the cobblestones.

 

Zayn took his hand. "I know where."

 

They left the waterfront and went down into the tunnels, the Dark Arches as they were known by the locals, that used to host a number of businesses from restaurants to galleries but which now was largely under construction, in use as car parks and lock ups and as a popular through-route to Granary Wharf. The structure was entirely Victorian, a massive remnant of the days when the river was the life blood of the city's industrial success in the 19th century. Nowadays the Arches had somewhat of a dubious reputation as a hub of various nefarious activities - some years back a cannabis factory was found in its recesses and people of dubious character generally inhabited it in the night time.

 

Zayn knew the tunnels like the back of his hand, however, and felt no concern beyond customary caution leading Harry down one of the smaller tunnels, technically restricted for maintenance purposes only and sealed off with a gate and barbed wire but which Zayn and his uni mates had found gave away by the wall, allowing for an average sized person to slip through. Apart from Harry's hair getting tangled with the wire, Zayn and him made it to the other side without problems and followed the curve of the tunnel left until the sounds of people and traffic faded into a background hum and were replaced by the sound of water, dripping through cracks overhead and surging ahead in the river below.

 

"Here," Zayn announced and turned abruptly around to face Harry, still holding his hand.

 

The passage was lit by a series of globular bulbs on each side of the vaulted roof like tiny little muted suns and under their yellow light the red stonework glowed dull orange while their skin took on a slightly feverish cast. That in addition to the groined vault ceiling, low here in the utility shaft unlike in the cavernous main shaft and sooty, timeworn tiles rendered the tunnel the ambiance of a giant masonry oven. Zayn certainly felt like he was burning alive.

 

"If you go down that way, you get to this old tunnel that's been in disuse for like the past century or so, except not really 'coz me and my mates used to go there a lot to spray paint this one particular wall there. Better not go there now when it's dark - no lights down there." He was breathless with excitement and his words came out choppy, in little spurts of fogged up breath.

 

Harry peered into the gloomy descent ahead with interest. "We'll have to come back for it then."

 

Zayn licked his lips, about to suggest next morning but at that moment a train ground overhead on the rails, rendering talking momentarily impossible with the ruckus that followed. Instead he took the opportunity to press Harry against the wall and himself into Harry, goading him to lean down this time. Stomach touching stomach, tight up against him, Zayn sucked Harry into what he considered their first proper kiss, one not marred by reservations. Their lips were numb and a little stiff from the cold, but it didn't matter - if anything, it was exciting and romantic in that adolescent, kisses-on-the-doorstep sort of way when the mere thought of a kiss was enough to keep one roused till the small hours.

 

"You're so-" The rest of the words were choked out mumbling and Harry laughed a little, in an almost nervous kind of way.

 

Zayn pushed even further into his person in an insuppressible impulse of emotion, digging his fingers into the back of Harry's hair to hold him still, jaw slack, caught in a strange dry orgasm of pure exultation. "What do you feel? Talk to me."

 

Harry licked his lips and worked his throat, either thinking or trying to find his voice. "It... feels great. You're great."

 

"No, what're you feeling Harry? Or like, thinking? I want to hear your thoughts."

 

"I'm just- happy. So happy to have you and hold you-" Harry's bewildered words turned into shallow gasps as Zayn's fingers wiggled under his shirt and brushed against his skin. A second later they unfastened the belt buckle, tugged free the button on the jeans and yanked the zipper down, brisk like a nurse at bath time to hide his shaking hands.

 

"Keep talking."

 

Harry knocked his head softly against the brick wall and craned his neck back so he was talking to the ceiling. "I've- dreamt about this so many times. About you touching me. I mean, I loved what we did before, in Louis' office, but it felt like a favour. That you were just humouring me or something. The poor lonely weirdo kid with his pathetic crush."

 

Zayn rolled his head from side to side against Harry's chest, displeased even as he felt his way into Harry's briefs. He wanted no images of their crummy childhood selves in his head right now, not when he was wrapping a hand around his erection. "No, talk to me about now."

 

"Now? It's like heaven."

 

"Yes," Zayn sighed into his neck and felt Harry push into his palm, wanting more. Never in a million years would Zayn have guessed to be in this position before being reacquainted with Harry, touching another man's cock and feeling nothing but exhilaration. Even this morning he couldn't have predicted it happening quite so soon or with such ease. He'd been attracted to Harry from the moment their eyes first met in the club, he was now certain, but until now a mental block had hindered the reconciliation between that pull and what acting on it would entail.

 

He rubbed his fist up and down, slow and careful, delighted at how smooth a foreskin made giving a handjob. He wanted to take it out in the open to finally see what it looked like but the temperatures were firmly on the anti-erection repellent half of the thermometre.

 

"This past week I've wanked more than pretty much ever. I can't stop thinking about you."

 

Zayn tugged harder, pictured getting on his knees on the charred earthy ground and peeling away the bothersome jeans to entrap it in his mouth. His throat was arid at the thought of it, of how thickly it must fill in your mouth when it felt so massive in his hand. At this moment he wanted more than anything, anything he'd ever wanted in his life, to smother his face between Harry's muscled thighs and suckle until they quivered and collapsed.

 

"I need cooling, baby, I'm not foolin'..." Harry's voice had gotten hoarse and taken on a somewhat musical lilt. "All them good times, baby, I've been yearning..."

 

Zayn frowned, hand stilling. A blurry half-memory of a youtube comment had popped up in his head, lodged in some deep ravine of his brain undetected, ready to float onto the surface like a bloated corpse. "Whole Lotta Love?" he questioned, a coldness spreading in his chest.

 

"Mmhm, love that song," Harry sighed.

 

The tunnel rumbled with the iron tread of another train and steamed over Zayn's cooling heart as it went. He pulled out his hand that now felt dirty and stepped back to regard Harry's confused, blinking face. "I guess it's true, what that one girl said. That you always quote it to groupies."

 

Harry flushed deeply. "How-"

 

"I looked you up on Youtube. The comment sections were very informative."

 

"You shouldn't believe everything you read there-"

 

"Don't sweat it, everyone fucks groupies."

 

"I wouldn't call them gr-"

 

" _Oh_ _fuck off_ , Harry," Zayn spat. Harry's slack face and dumb imploring eyes made him want to punch someone, preferably Harry. "It's fine, y'know. You wanted to sleep with your high school crush, I wanted to experiment with a guy. I think I'm kind of done experimenting now, though, thinking 'bout it."

 

"It's obviously not fine. I'm- not entirely sure what I did wrong? I don't think you of as a groupie, I don't think of anyone as-" Harry paused at the contemptuous look Zayn shot him and continued even more carefully, "I just really like that song. I didn't mean to make you feel cheap. I thought we were on the same page, you know... keeping it casual?"

 

Zayn gnawed on his lower lip like it had done him grievous harm, a painful reality retrospectively manifest in all their interactions during the past week. Harry might not think of him as some disposable, but nor was he looking for anything remotely along the lines Zayn had been conjuring out of thin air outside the pub twenty minutes ago. Zayn had simply interpreted all his seemingly romantic attentions through the lens of his ego and personal approach to relationships, which he should never have assumed Harry would adhere to as well. Fuck, that stupid kiss outside his building...! Zayn had built it into such a Thing, but to Harry it must have meant next to nothing.

 

"Zayn? Are you alright?"

 

"Yeah. I uh... don't we are on the same page, really. I don't really want a casual thing, 've kind of grown out of that. I just got caught in the thrill of something new and different for a while. So. I think we should part ways here. It's been nice catching up with you, we'll have a cuppa some time together, yeah?"

 

Harry stared at the hand Zayn had stretched out to him like an alien gesture. "But- What d'you mean? I mean, did you, do want to-? I thought-"

 

Zayn dropped his arm, impatient and struggling to keep his bleeding heart from overflowing onto the ground. "Goodbye, Harry Styles, I had a lovely time. Hope your band makes it." Then he breezed past Harry, swift but careful not to run, up the tunnel and through the gate where his coat got stuck in the wire and was ripped off so violently an entire section of wool tore out. Once he entered the brightly lit main tunnel he hastened his pace considerably, his footsteps a shadowy series of echoes along the walls, like the livid organ hammering in his chest. Thankfully the booming river drowned out both at the bridge and then on the eastern bank the noises of people increased ten-fold due to the proximity of the station.

 

He'd almost breached the hundred metre distance between Granary Wharf and the station area, right at the corner of the underground section of Neville Street, when he suddenly tripped on an errant stone protruding out of the pavement and slumped down on one knee, a curse ready at his lips but it never surfaced, instead ballooning into a massive, ugly sob. His face grew tight, straining like a rotten fruit upon eruption but he focused on breathing through his nose, relaxing his shoulders, assuring himself he was acting irrationally. _You don't know him, he owes you nothing, and shit it's barely been a week! The indignity of rejection will pass._

 

After a while his the pressure in his lungs had abated enough that he could straighten without a wobble, a rueful smile on his face. He strode through the rest of the way of the tunnel, now stiff from the cold, and emerged into open air in front the of the station. Quite a few boisterous groups were meandering about and Zayn withdrew into himself, locating his phone to ring a taxi. He barely retrieved it, however, before his attention was arrested by a familiar head of braids some thirty yards to his left, reclining drunkenly against the shoulder of a gaunt man he recognized as the bassist of the Red Robinsons from the obnoxious bandanna around his forehead, á la Bret Michaels.

 

The pair were getting into a car, he slapping her generously arse to speed her along, and Zayn realised with a jolt of panic what their intentions were whatever their destination. He barrelled towards them, yelling Angelica's name, but the doors of the car had already slammed shut and then the car was speeding away into the traffic, tyres screeching. He stared after it arms still thrown out, helpless, thrown off for having to abruptly change gears into worrying about people other than himself.

 

"Fucking fuck!" he bellowed, uncaring of the curious looks he got, and instead of taxi selected Harry's number on his phone. When there was no answer after two rings he started back towards the Arches, the phone squeezed to his ear. There was no helping it, he would have to fetch Harry and pray there'd still be time to interfere before that revolting exploitative fuck molested his student. How could he not prioritize Angelica? He was still her teacher, whether on school grounds or not, and he should have recognized allowing a teenage girl traipse about the Dark Arches after dark as the oversight it was.

 

The tunnel seemed twice as long now and oppressive in its dark waxy yellowness, like in a van Gogh painting. The shape of it too appeared to mutate and wobble, gaining length with each step. Zayn was half expecting to run into Harry, astray in the endless passages he might actually quite realistically not navigate correctly, that dim-witted look permanently etched on his face until the curse was lifted.

 

God, you're losing it, Zayn thought with dark mirth and when he at last jogged into the canal waterfront, marinating in a thick sheet of sweat under his coat, he didn't mind much having to face Harry again. The Dead Man was raucous with laughter, conversation and vivacious folk music by a band not many people seemed to savor, noticeably more so than when Zayn had left it. Despite the hordes it was effortless spotting Harry as his group at the bar was by far the rowdiest in the room. Harry himself was mounted on a stool in his gaudy Prince boots, two of his frankly hideous band mates balancing him on either side, serenading the bartender with Do You Really Want to Hurt Me? with suspicious integrity.

 

Zayn slipped behind him to tug him on a trouser leg, insistent, until Harry looked down and promptly froze in surprise. "Zayn?"

 

"Get down, this is important."

 

" _Oooooh_ ," Harry's friends cawed like Zayn had just challenged him into a wrestling match. Harry clambered don quickly, however, attentive. "Zayn, I'm so sorry-"

 

"Not now. I need your bassist's address."

 

Harry looked around, presumably in search of the man in question. "Why?"

 

"Because he has kidnapped a drunken sixteen-year-old girl."

 

"What? Caleb wouldn't- What?"

 

"I saw it happen just now. She's my student, she was most certainly drunk, and much more so than your _friend_ ," Zayn gave the word a mean emphasis, "and they got into his car. To be fair, she doesn't look sixteen, but I reckon the drunkenness is bad enough on its own, don't you think?"

 

Harry combed his hair with both hands. "Oh shit. Listen, guys, I'm gonna go sort this, handle the equipment, yeah?" he spoke to his satisfactorily silenced company.

 

"I don't need your help," Zayn immediately protested.

 

"Rubbish, we'll take my car."

 

***

 

Harry had parked at the station car park, meaning they had to pass through the Arches once more, an infuriating fact had Zayn swearing against visiting the area for years to come in his head every step of the way. Harry spent the minutes ringing up "Caleb" over and over until he finally settled to leaving a short voice mail so stern Zayn found it rather sexy despite himself. They didn't exchange another word until they reached the car, however, Zayn deliberately avoiding eye contact to signal he didn't want to talk about the two of them right now.

 

"Caleb lives right in the centre, about five minutes away," Harry rasped as he unlocked his precious car, coughing awkwardly to dispel the hoarseness.

 

"Good."

 

"You're- absolutely sure it was him?"

 

"Yes."

 

They stared each other down over the roof of the car for a tense half a second until Zayn climbed into the car, slamming his door shut far more forcefully than necessary. Harry followed him tight-lipped but revved up the engine and steered the car into the street without a comment. He was a confident driver and it took them exactly three and a half minutes to find the right street lined by large four-storey unadorned brick houses. They rolled down the length of it at a sluggish pace while Harry dug around his phone for the apartment number and Zayn inspected all the windows with lights on.

 

"Wait. Harry, stop. That's her, right there. By the street light." Zayn didn't wait for the car to stop to leap on the street, calling Angelica's name. The girl lifted her head from where she seemed to have been staring at her phone, peering warily in their direction. Zayn walked briskly towards her, so relieved he could have burst into tears, and Angelica's expression lightened up considerably as well when she recognized him under the streetlight.

 

"Lookin' for me, Mr Malik?" she laughed, with affected nonchalance, but in Zayn's eyes she had never looked younger.

 

"I saw you getting into the car with the bassist. Did something happen? Are you alright?"

 

The girl had the nerve to roll her eyes. "Yah. Just got sick a bit. Ended up vomiting on his prick. He went to the loo and I left." She flicked her hair behind her shoulder at his reaction. "Don't even start, I can handle myself. 'm not even pissed."

 

"Yeah? So if I took you home right now and talked to your parents about what you've been up to they wouldn't smell anything on your breath?"

 

"Oh, for f- Don't tell them, Mr Malik, they're got enough worries as it is, please." She sidled closer and Zayn could see how badly she was shivering in her tiny little jacket. Her eyes shimmered huge and innocent. "Nothing happened really. I had, like, two beers and I didn't even touch his dick. I don't even do this normally, I lied about going to that pub all the time. I just got lucky there was a crowd and I slipped through. I- read some texts on your phone and they mentioned the gig, I'm really sorry. It was just a stupid dream I had that- we could-"

 

Zayn took a deep breath, pretending to think about it but he already knew what he was going to do. Christmas was in three days and he felt partly responsible for her doings anyway. Maybe he had in fact handled her wrong from the very beginning, dodging her clumsy attempts at flirting instead of having a proper chat with her. They would have to do that as soon as possible. "C'mon." He placed her arm around her shoulder to lead her towards Harry's car. "Let's get you home for now. We'll deal with this later. I might be able to let this one slide and not tell your parents about this, but don't think you're off the hook. As soon as we come back from the holidays, I'm going to arrange a meeting with the school counselor, even if you say this isn't normal behaviour for you."

 

Angelica sniffed and nodded, but her miserable expression turned into astonishment in a heartbeat when she saw who was at the wheel. "Oh my God, Harry Styles!" She clambered into the front seat, Zayn temporarily forgotten. "You were amazing! Are you friends with Mr Malik?"

 

Harry glowed under her attention. "Why, yes I am. We went to school together."

 

"Cool. I'd love to be a singer, too, I've got a pretty good voice."

 

"I thought you wanted to be a doctor," Zayn mumbled dryly from where he'd been banished in the backseat, but neither Harry or Angelica paid him any mind. He didn't really mind it, however, content to listen them chat about her dreams and his 'celebrity lifestyle', pitching in every once in a while to add a pinch of realism into their more outlandish ideas. The drive to the quiet residential are where the Obayamis lived in a beautiful old house painted white went so swiftly Zayn could have sworn he'd nodded off at some point even though he hadn't missed a word. Angelica got out of the car her head held high, dark eyes bright, and bade them both goodbye and happy Christmas so cheerfully Zayn didn't have the heart to remind her of the impending consequences of her little adventure.

 

"Lovely girl," Harry started just when she leaned into the car one time through his open window and panted,

 

"Oh, by the way, I am counting on your band becoming famous, I wanna be able to say I vomited on a famous guy's dick!" Then she bounced up the stairs to her house for the final time with a little wave at the door.

 

"Vomited on... Caleb's dick?" Harry questioned, laughter in his voice but it died quickly when Zayn reclaimed his seat at the front and raised his eyebrow. "Sorry, sorry, not funny. What uh do you think I should about him?"

 

Zayn shrugged. "I don't know. I guess he had no reason to suspect her age and it seems she wasn't that drunk... Your band, you decide."

 

Harry squirmed, squeezing the steering wheel with both hands. "I guess I'll talk to him tomorrow, get his side of the story? I've known him for a while, I've never seen him pick up teenagers before or anything."

 

"Yeah, fine by me. Just take me home now, please."

 

Harry did, quiet and serious until Zayn's building came into view, filling them both with memories of the first time Harry had driven him home. The engine switched off, they sat in the car in a curious mixture of awkward stillness and comfortable quietude until the car had lost so much heat their coats barely protected them anymore.

 

"Can we talk now?" Harry asked the steering wheel.

 

"Yeah, yeah we can." Zayn straightened his back, fortifying himself for honesty but not daring to look in Harry's direction. "I'm sorry about blowing up on you. We just... had a misunderstanding. I jumped into conclusions. Everyone's always telling me I'm impulsive when I'm caught up in my emotions. Don't know how to handle them properly. And," he flashed a weak smile, "I fall in love too easily."

 

Harry blinked, alarmed, mouth falling slightly open. "In _love_?"

 

Zayn made an impatient noise. "Not, like, literally? I mean I obviously can't be in love with you after just a week. But generally speaking I fall for people quickly, too quickly, get invested way before I really know them or before knowing if it's-," he struggled to find the right word, "uh, if it's based on anything real."

 

"Okay." Harry considered it some more. "Okay, I see. I think I'm maybe the opposite. I never get to the falling part. It's all about the chase for me. Basically, my relationships end when most people's start. I don't think I've... ever had what might be considered a proper relationship."

 

"Catch and release," Zayn muttered.

 

"Yeah. It's become a bit of a rut, if I'm quite honest. I do it because it's what I'm used to." Harry turned in his seat to regard him intently, trying to meet his eyes. "You could be a little different, though."

 

"Right."

 

"No, really. I don't really ever get nervous when I'm, like, pursuing someone. It's just not in my nature. But I've been a total mess since I met you."

 

Zayn's face felt so tight he'd probably summon himself a headache soon. "Only because of our past. I'm the ultimate test for the confidence you've built."

 

"Alright, there's definitely truth in that, yeah. _Part_ of why I'm so- keen on you is because I was eager to prove myself my high school me was dead and buried, a thing of another life. I like to pretend none of it happened most of the time, the bullying. That I had a great time and friends and... you know."

 

"I do."

 

"But it's not just that, it's not. There's a connection between us that has nothing to do with our teenage selves, I know you feel it too. I know I said that I'm all about keeping it casual, but... You're making me want to try something more permanent."

 

"That's a quick change of heart there you're having."

 

"It's more like I hadn't even considered the possibility before you brought it up. I also didn't want to assume anything. Like, I thought you were probably just experimenting? You said you'd never had sex with a guy... Fuck it, Zayn, let's have a fresh start. My first proper relationship, your first gay relationship, what could go wrong?"

 

Zayn couldn't help but smile at the hammy way Harry spread his arms like a game show host or something. "Hold your horses for a little more. I'm also worried that you're... putting me on a pedestal, like. You know? Idolizing me. Because of your childhood infatuation. I can't live up to that image. In fact I can be really fucking awful."

 

"Everyone has faults," Harry brushed it off, not missing a beat. "I know that. Someone with your looks probably twice as many as the average person."

 

"Shh, just let me say this. You knew me at the unhappiest stage of my life. I hated every second at Harrogate, actively wished it would burn to the ground and take everyone, staff and students, with it. I was a miserable person. Louis was my one distraction and sometimes the only reason I got in the bus in the morning, but I even hated him most of the time. Not because of him, but because he was part of the life I hated." A heavy sigh escaped Zayn. "And you fancied that miserable, bitter git. It's _weird_ , Harry."

 

"I _am_ pretty weird. That hasn't changed." Harry reached  for his hand and took in his lap. "Come on, Zayn, stop resisting my obviously disarming charms. The more I think about us as an Us, the more excited I'm getting. We'll be such a power couple, I'm telling you."

 

"You do have your charms... Pretty nice dick, too, from what I could tell."

 

"My dick is awesome, like you wouldn't believe. Never had any complaints."

 

"If you could just hear how you talk...!" Zayn complained but a ruddy colour was rising to his cheeks at Harry raising the hand in his lap to caress it with his lips. They stared at each other along the back of it, Zayn's assent to the question apparent in his softened gaze.

 

Then Harry let their hands drop, an animated grin lighting up his face. "You know what, the power couple thing made me remember something. There's a reunion slash fund raiser type of thing coming up at Harrogate. We should totally go. I'll be Romy and you Michele."

 

"Who?"

 

"Romy and Michele's High School Reunion?" Harry clicked his tongue. "So uneducated. Guess we know what we're watching on our movie date."

 

"Movie date?"

 

"The one we're having as soon as I get back from Cheshire. Or, we could go pet sheep in that city farm in Meanwood. _Or_ , we could go this great place where you can paint your own pottery. It's mostly for kids but totally adult-friendly. Wow, you know what, I think I might actually be a pretty sick boyfriend."

 

Zayn chewed on his lip, thinking. Snap decisions with Harry hadn't led him wrong yet and who gave a fuck if it was too much too soon? They had History together. "Actually, I have an even better idea. Remember my roommate, Aleem, who's on teacher exchange in Spain? His house mates there are all gone for the holidays so he has a lot of-"

 

"I'd love to."

 

"You don't think it's too soon?"

 

"Nah. I for one have waited to lie naked under the sun with you for, what's it been, eight years? Fuck caution. Now, sidle up here so we can get down to some serious car snogging to celebrate our nuptials. Fun fact, I have never shagged anyone in this car, not even gone down on anyone."

 

Impatiently, Harry wrapped his hands around Zayn's face to pull him in but got in exactly one kiss before Zayn was already extricating himself and slipping out of the car while at it. "As tempting as that sounds, I'd rather we went up to my flat. You could stay the night? Do some pretty decent snogging on my bed. We'll leave the car for all those dates you're planning."

 

He didn't wait for an answer, skipping ahead towards his building, certain that Harry would follow. The fires that had been already extinguished in the dark confines of the Arches were flaring up again, one by one, a little less savage this time around, but more than compensating for it with an until now foreign velvety warmth, like a mountain of blankets on a cold winter morning.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic wasn't supposed to end here, but I just don't have it in me to finish it according to plan. I've been trying to for weeks on end (or has it been months?? fucking hell), but it's not happening, especially now that things are the way they are.
> 
> Basically, right after where this cuts off, there was to be a lengthy sex scene and then the day after some fluffy scenes at the Leeds German Christmas Market, riding a carousel, buying Christmas candy... you get the picture. Buuut I'm just glad this is finally done!!!


End file.
